As the meadowlark
Singing after fresh spring rain
Poets need the same
© 2017 Jim Davis
Wind whirling around prairie fence-posts,
a few weeks after winter’s last frost
was melted away,
replaced by white flowers that whipped
and flipped in spring’s fresh breath.
Like waves frothing in an ocean bay,
the fine, flirty song of a Meadowlark
is willed into the world,
and frolics through the windy hills.
Coyote by my door at night,
meadowlark in the morning.
First that yip,
then that sleep,
now the pretty singing.
— The End —