Like the creek not far from my home, the poems have been flowing! Not that they're always welcome, say if it's early morning and words fly into my head. Must I really wake enough, reach for my notebook and write them down? Oh well. I suppose so. Seeing as another couple of lines are now ringing — a Musey alarm clock??
As dear daughter who claims to be 'powered by poetry' gifted me with this notebook,
saying I was unlikely to mislay it (!), I reach for the pen, click it, and start to write:
Bare branches, gilded by the risen sun,
sway in the freezing breeze, and wonder:
when will spring come?
Budding catkins, tinged with red,
await the seasons’ change to warmth.
Then at last they’ll celebrate—
hang dangly earrings
to decorate and demonstrate
the sweet, surging sap of resurrected maple.