Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2019
.
I looked with joy this Friday morn
at seasons changes subtly drawn
as imprints left on **** rimed grass
began to fade and ice like glass
began to melt as sun broke through
on frosted webs and merging dew
with welcome sounds of seasons tread
the signs of spring began to spread.
Written by
Michael Edwards
143
   Fawn
Please log in to view and add comments on poems