Spring, unkempt all year, wakes up frisky and new.
She doesn’t come on in a straightforward bulldozer way, but shyly
And not at all sure of herself, which makes you want her more.
The pandering, the unexpected finding. These are Spring treasures.
And so you wet one finger, to affix a wayward geranium petal;
That bright red heart to your forehead, making of yourself
A foreign man or woman (you take your pick) full of travels
In tassels and dyed fabric with shiny strings woven right in.
And even though you’re acting the child marked as much so
Between your eyes, Spring points out that it’s perfectly fine;
For even the grasses do not know their own weight,
And the wind blows wherever it wills
Which makes you believe in make-believe; And there in the corner,
A lily returns to life. Isn’t she something!
Dainty with crocheted edge. And all at once you know
You’ll figure things out even if you don’t know what they are yet,
Because the earth is so near and you are an Indian prince
Or princess (take your pick) sipping black currant tea
Before you’re off on an adventure; most likely on the backs
Of elephants swimming through very tall, untroubled waters.
and Real Toads Tuesday Platform