by Leonard M Hawkes

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.


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

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

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 02/24/16 at 09:53 AM

beautiful. and its got a lovely sound to it.

Posted by George Hoerner on 02/24/16 at 11:28 PM

Very nice Leonard! Good enough to copy into my list of favorites, thanks!

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