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.


  1. 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!

  2. Spring waiting in the wings...I love this poem. Such beautiful imagery. :D

    1. On days like today, she seems to have already come through the curtain here.

  3. 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.


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