A Hint

Dogwood red and lambs tail
dangle among the skeletal
hawthorn and blackthorn
of ancient stale pollen hedgerows;
as old as William's book.
Beneath, primrose and violet
wait patiently for their cue
to dance nature‘s fandango.
Raindrops splatter mole hills
into pancakes, in buttercup meadows
that wait for spring to peep like a clean kirtle
from under the raggedy gown of winter.

Between the showers, a hint…

a certain feel, an air of expectant exultation.
Instinct inbuilt, tells us
spring (hopefully) rides astride
a March-ing wind.

©
Copyright
VMM2008