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.