~ Ode to Healing Spring ~
She skips capriciously on sodden paths,
her glance aware of winter's grizzled smirk.
Her arms flung wide in gentle warmth, she laughs
with carefree ease and quickly gets to work.
She sponges branches, cleans their crusted eyes,
infuses leaves with measured drops of light.
She kneels to soothe the huddled saplings' cries
and gently bathes the welts from winter's bite.
Her deft and charismatic fingers surge
to bandage roots, massage the aching soil.
With midwife skills she helps new shoots emerge --
their nodding blooms a tribute to her toil.
We bow to every season's trumpet call
but Spring's the greatest healer of them all.
copyright 2001 Laryalee Fraser
~ Beloved Spring ~
Dear Spring, how I long
for the warmth of your touch,
for your petal-fresh vigor and grace;
I'm weary of winter --
the sound of his brawling,
the scowl on his battle-scarred face.
At times I imagine
I'm hearing your voice --
that you're tiptoeing close to my door...
but when I peek out,
it's just growly old winter
still stubbornly trying to roar.
I treasure the lilt
of your rhythmical flow
as it bounces from flower to tree;
I know that your spirit
belongs to the world
but I feel that you're dancing for me!
When shadows have lengthened,
when silence descends
and the pale curtain's finally drawn,
if you, dearest Spring,
could be holding my hand,
I'll not fear for the season beyond.
copyright 2001/03 Laryalee Fraser
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