Soaring through the clouds
The hawk observes his next meal
Dropping in to dine

Brian Hill - 2019 # 325

Thank you, midnight sky
No
I really have to thank you
Because you were there for me
When no one else could
When I was thinking about him

Spring sings as do the birds, high in the tall trees;
Spring knits fluffy white clouds, laying them in the blue sky gingerly;
Spring plants the seeds of the delicate flowers,
And when she’s sad, Spring’s tears water her trees.

Spring’s dazzling smile brings the radiant sun after showers,
Makes skies burst with vibrant colours;
Wanting to feel the crisp air of the morning,
Watch the dew on the flowers.

Spring places golden daffodil flower crowns in her hazel hair;
Spring’s voice is sweet honey, dripping from the hive;
Dancing in light meadows, frolicking in the forest, swimming in the river;
Spring spins the smooth silk of the clear lake water,
Rippling as the frogs leap from lilypad to lilypad.

Dining on the sweet apples and berries of her green trees,
The fresh oranges and strawberries;
Friends with the robins and butterflies,
Squirrels and deer, blue jays and swans.

Leaves every year,
Only to be back again for three months;
Taking the torch from Winter;
Making way for Summer, and Autumn;
Watching as they make their way,
And thrive, in their own moment;
An endless cycle, bound to Time.