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The Voice of Spring-(A poem)

Spring’s Voice

Spring pulled me aside to gossip about winter.

She blew in my ear,

gave me chills,

made me grab my jacket.

Pointing out the brittle leaves,

complaining about the frost,

she even whispered the truth about the bulbs.

‘They won’t be coming up.’

Her erratic laughter echoed in a layer of fog.

Daunting, wet words drenched my path with rain.

‘Be still,” I said.

‘I can’t,’ she replied.

‘Show me your buds,

Let me hear the birds.

Better yet, tell me about summer.’

The branches swayed,

a swoosh of mist filled the air.

‘You’ll miss me when I’m gone.’

I ran for the house,

As a storm approached.

‘Yes, I will.

I’ll miss every cool breath of wind

howling under the window,

distant rolls of thunder;

distinct cloud formations,

even showers pounding on the roof.

Yes, dear Spring.

I’ll miss your voice.’

-Eve Gaal

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