To Think a Scent

I am thinking of a scent…
That permeates so sweetly
I am fooled so that I can’t
Help breathing in so deeply.

Now I am fully awake;
I am shaking off the chills.
I am walking off the ache;
I am heading for the fields.

My eyes sweep the deep color
That becomes an avatar.
And I throw off all dolor
In the fields of lavender!

Sometimes They Come Too Early


I heard they came too early
Those little harbingers of spring
Couldn’t wait to make their debut
Couldn’t wait their songs to sing.
Under the pine trees they huddled
‘Cross the barren lawn they scuttled.

I must go out and greet them!
I must go out and see
Those foreshadowers of springtime
Those tellers of what’s to be.
Two I quickly saw at a glance.
No…three there are (perchance).

Approaching on tiny footsteps
Holding my breath lest I disclose
My purpose in coming so closely
Was only to capture their pose.
Two swiftly ascended in flight
Leaving one in perilous plight!

She lay partially covered in ice
Not moving, not even an inch.
Her mouth froze open a crack
Her feet balled up in a clench.
Why did you come so early?
Why arrive so prematurely?

My cam’ra was dropped in the snow
As I breathed out a horrible cry,
The little one scooped up in gloves
Lifted closer for signs of life.
Her breast lay quiet and hard
Her eyes fastened and barred.

Couldn’t you wait to arrive to tell me
Warmer days were on their way?
Couldn’t you wait to bring end to winter
Couldn’t you wait ‘til an April day?
Oh, little harbinger of spring
I hear the message that you bring.

Sometimes they come too early.
Does anyone notice or care?
Are their days even numbered?
As others walk by and stare.
Early and born out of season,
Tiny but born for a reason.

Are not two birds sold for a penny?
Yet not one of them falls to the ground
Outside of their Father’s knowledge
Outside of His love that abounds.
The hairs of their heads are all numbered.
Wee little harbingers of wonder!

May I Have This Dance?


He came rushing in

All breathless and brisk.

“May I have this dance?”

And lifted her wrist.

Surprised, she turned her face

Up to his hoary one.

“Aren’t you a little old

To be dancing for fun?”

“Oh no,” he chortled,

“I’ve been at this a long time.

I’m quite good, you know

And still in my prime.”

Before she could answer,

She was swept off her feet.

And went twirling midair

Not missing a beat.

Round and round they flew

As I stood there watching

Old Wind and Miss Snow

Became one in the dancing!