The early warmth
That melts the ling'ring snow,
It calls me back again;
A pure and very simple song,
I find you here--
Love, memory extends.

Those selfsame walls
That keep the season cold
Preserve the coming green;
And though there's strength
In winter's frost,
My heart's drawn to the spring.

So was that early twig once bent,
So now are growing seasons spent.

02/23/2016

Author's Note: A liberated sonnet. Logan Canyon.

Posted on 02/24/2016
Copyright © 2024 Leonard M Hawkes