Poetry Sunday: Waiting in the Wings by Emile Pinet
As winter begins to wind down, we can almost see spring on the horizon. It is just over there beyond our view; waiting in the wings.
Waiting in the Wings
by Emile Pinet
Sunlight weaves in between twigs of skeletal trees. And a web of shadows dances with each feisty breeze. A silver sky shimmers like cheap carnival glass. And yet, this fickle sun’s too weak for blades of grass. Snow accumulates on branches that almost break. And bow low to the ground with the weight of each flake. Sugar maple sap waits, not even one sweet drip. And snowmen aren’t melting, frozen in Winter's grip. Spring's not on stage, quite yet, She's waiting in the wings. But I can almost smell the flowers that She brings.
The perfect poem for an almost spring day. My crocuses are up (not blooming yet, but a friend in New York City posted her blooming crocuses on Facebook yesterday). Unbelievable for our part of the country!ReplyDelete
Spring seems to come earlier every year.Delete
Spring waiting in the wings...I love this poem. Such beautiful imagery. :DReplyDelete
On days like today, she seems to have already come through the curtain here.Delete
Spring's showing up on stage here less than a week after you posted this poem. Our azaleas are budding, just tiny little buds but buds, and I almost thought the freeze around Christmas time killed them. An ideal poem for this time of year.ReplyDelete