Pretty much everybody knows
a dose of Spring in February means
its tease of warmth is fleeting.
It’s still a ways to go before the seeding
of April greeneries and allergies,
discarded clothing and a hint of skin
as white as bone but soon as dark as bark.
Spring, though, makes a fool of winter
when colors pop the gray of naked trees
and fill the limbs with fresher leaves,
so bushels in the boughs can rest on high
against the backdropp of a just-washed sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is lovely David, the flow just rolls one along. A delightful find. Very well written. Loved it. Love and hugs Ernestine XXX