Spring
Spring comes wearing a bright green dress
And fragrant flowers tucked in her tresses.
Spring comes on feathered wings;
On bird song and the hum of bees;
Rich loam of freshly planted gardens;
The soft songs of earthworms
And the flutter of butterfly wings.
Spring skips gaily over the creek,
Through the budding trees and dells.
She sings to newborn lambs and calves,
And spindly legged colts trailing mares.
She washes her hair in sudden showers,
Primps at her reflection in the clear puddles;
Dances with the wind and giggles like a girl
When the grain of newly planted fields
Breaks through the earth and tickles her feet.
Spring is happiest when she is adored;
Planted with flower beds, brushed and seeded
To enter summer in a carefree riot of beauty!
Songs of the Heart
Sweetly sing love’s reveries
Kept in the secret pockets of my heart.
When darkness hovers all around me,
And the night seems soulless,
The songs of timeless passion,
Remembered in spates of longing
Softly echo through my soul
And break the time-barriers of age.
They sing the breathless song of stars
And hum the rhapsody of night
And silent longing pulled from time
Leaping the sunlit streams of youth -
Words of undying devotion
Written on the rose petals of my heart
In the frilly lace of girlhood surrender
To passion’s pull and love’s delight.
The days of Valentine dreams
Never end when the soul waltzes
To the songs love remembers,
Locked in the heart of girlhood dreams.
The Dreamy Paleness of Reality
Soft the falling dew at twilight;
Ghostly the whiteness of the Lilies.
Brave the brightness of the Moon
Striking splendor in my soul.
Gentle the fingers of the night wind
Stroking strands of my moon-silver hair.
The scent of Lilies caresses my face
With the sweetness of Eden’s breath.
Passionate the memory of your mouth
Covering my own in the moonlight.
In this dreamy paleness of reality
I float on my awareness of you -
Alive from your pervading presence
Surrounding me in sacred shadows;
Gracing my being with such divinity.
Iambic Schmambic
I walk in silent twilight of my years
A vagrant wayfarer upon life’s path
A wispy shadow passing through life’s tears;
A lonely shade without an epitaph.
What does life give without receipt to be?
This strange enchanted bag of rictus smiles
Comes ‘round to haunt us like a raging sea;
A broken compass guiding endless miles.
It’s such a foolish thought, to be or not,
Marking the passing time that we must choose
To live or die or make a stand for naught
Or be the friend that no man wants to lose.
Life runs out in all its fickle phases
With laments or songs of endless praises.
Annie Johnson© All rights reserved.
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