March Lion





Paws and claws to the door, breathing storms
In it roars, the third month of this year
Daffodils bow bright manes to the King of Spring.
Each unfurling - leaf, petal, tadpole - belies the windchill
Warmth is washing in.
What is left of our snowdrops - dotted foam of an ebbed wave
By night a waxing moon was pulling up tides, and we dreamt
Our feet, unshod, pressing across tawny sand






Comments

Geo. said…
"... a waxing moon was pulling up tides". It goes from bare feet to the cosmos. Lisa, this poem, it is beautiful!
Lisa Southard said…
It is my privilege to witness and share :-)
Very busy getting a novel print ready, this blog is barely getting tended. Hopefully loss of quantity is balanced with quality - it feels like it is. xx

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