Return Of The Morning Twilight Poem by Paul Amrod

The coyness of the winter months hidden throughout an endless night
will depart as a caterpillar finds it sumptuous wings shedding its cocoon.
As the thawing of an ice cycle drips upon a window pane the flight
of the new-born butterfly alerts the bluebird with the setting of a full moon.
The shadows stretch forward over the prairie as the sun hurries over the horizon
to acclaim the renaissance of Nature's dew glistening as the gardener resumes
his tasks trimming the branches of the oncoming blossoms as they ripen.
Cradled in the hearts of optimists are the bucolic wonders on this halcyon
day as it proceeds to develop its picturesque depictions as a robin attunes
its search with his orange-colored breast filled with fervor as it prances forthright.
The barren landscape of concealed promises awakens leisurely as the canyons
yawn and the mountains snore and the waters of March commence to flow.
The gradual vivication of our surroundings arouses the fauna as they mate
bringing another procreation into being as the broken clouds produce a rainbow
decorating the valley as it exceeds skyward as if to cordially invite
a jubilee of coloristic interplay designing patterns so elemental and innate.
The last of the sap of the maple exudes as Aldebaran gives way to the northern lights
with devotional Venusian tempers animating the ambience so opportune.
An intriguing dormancy lulls us as we await the seasonal overture to resound
initiating the reciprocity of the embryonic and nourishment as they collaborate.
The planting begins with kale and collards as the soil warms with the fields bestrewn
plentifully as the purple haze carrots add to the bounteous pleasures of the ground.
The bloodroot and the anemones bedeck the woodland as the eastern twilight
arises amidst a fading fog which travels lightly over the marshes and lagoon.
The mysterious silence begins to dissipate as purple finches congregate
and peep about trilling their counterpoints in an improvisational splendor.
The rushing of the melting snows weaves its path to a cave underground
surfacing as a fertile creek flowing into a pond where tadpoles engender
their passage progressively moving forward through an afternoon.
Unceasingly the indigenous movements are instinctual leading us to surrender
to the lavish endowments which all unblemished characters seem to emulate.
The fading of Saturn's rings as the morning Candlemas bells protrude is so tender
to my waking eyes and the daffodils hesitate as a snow squall suddenly precipitates.
This is fertilizer for our late winter buds to burst as we all will remember
the evening's hailing of fluorescence with the darkness each morning past eight.
Now this time has passed as we rejoice in contentment as is coming soon
the vernal fruition in all shapes and variety calling us all to graciously celebrate.