Spring Poem by david lessard

A woman tapped me on the shoulder the other day...
her touch was soft and tender...her smell warm and rich...
her face lit up the sky!
'Where have you been? ' I asked.
'Sorry I'm late, ' she laughed.
'Late, ' I said, 'I should say so, over a month late.'
She laughed again (she was very fickle) .
'Yes, I know. I can't stay long either. I've many spots to visit and old friends to see.'
Then as suddendly as she appeared...she was gone.
She said her name was Spring and that she'd see me again next year.
In the meantime, I was to keep an eye out for her sister, Summer.
She was so gracious about it, I said that I would.