Cindy Smith
Cindy Smith Poems
With each passing day winter’s grip loosens.
A season about to end; a new one ready to hurl its bright
greens, pinks, and yellows against a fresh canvass of orange
sunset giving way only to starry nights even Van Gogh might
...
Minutes grow to be hours that meld into days.
The days shade imperceptibly into months.
The months fold over into years
then the years dash into the decades.
...
The Best Poem Of Cindy Smith
The Approaching Spring
With each passing day winter’s grip loosens.
A season about to end; a new one ready to hurl its bright
greens, pinks, and yellows against a fresh canvass of orange
sunset giving way only to starry nights even Van Gogh might
of envied.
Quiet winter doldrums succumb to growing more boisterous energies.
Who isn’t ready to exchange heavy boots and woolen socks for sandals? To feel the sensation of a cool blade of grass or warm sand between their toes? The sun caressing their bare skin once more?
How is it that we move so effortlessly between the seasons? How joyously we put up and then so subtly take down our expectations.
Storing the old then opening each new possibility as eagerly as on a Christmas morning.
Anxiously waiting, we beckon all we know and love about the approaching Spring to hurry,
hurry home.
Company’s coming.
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9/19/2024 3:12:07 PM # 1.0.0.1119
