Spring
Henry Curry • 7 April 2020
WiT week one - a poem with no letter 'O'
Spring: the trees dress
in their newest, freshest, green,
this tear’s latest style.
The hues fresh,
they dance in the wind,
twirling their arms
and bending with the breeze.
Underneath them
bulbs pierce the dull earth
with their green shafts.
Their heads – white, blue
and several sunshine shades –
reflect the sky, the sun…
and the dreams, wishes and prayers
we all clutch: after winter, spring;
after spring, summer.
in their newest, freshest, green,
this tear’s latest style.
The hues fresh,
they dance in the wind,
twirling their arms
and bending with the breeze.
Underneath them
bulbs pierce the dull earth
with their green shafts.
Their heads – white, blue
and several sunshine shades –
reflect the sky, the sun…
and the dreams, wishes and prayers
we all clutch: after winter, spring;
after spring, summer.
Life renewed.
Elizabeth Horrocks
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