A New Season Poem by Carolyn Brunelle
A New Season
She calls at my door;
wants to know
what I’m sitting here for
when the sun and soft breezes
are trying to tease me
away from winter's doldroms.
But I can’t take the chance
much beyond winsome glance,
'til my work is complete.
Then I’ll gladly take a seat
there in the fresh
beckoning air;
when all I have to lose
is these indoor blues
to the ever playful,
captivating beauty of Spring.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/15/2024 1:31:31 PM # 1.0.0.1119
