Banner Mountain Girl # 72 — Spring Is

Hens and roosters — wild violets at Banner Mountain Homeplace

 

Spring is

as warm as sun on robin’s breast
as soft as yarn in blackbird’s nest
as cool as breezes when they blow
as white as gentle flakes of snow
as tasty as sunflower seeds
or nasty as tough bitterweeds––
polecat babies in black and white,
who stir a stink in dark of night
tornado winds that scalp the hills
and crack the eggs of whippoorwills––
a “fraidy hole”––a cellar deep
where even greenish frogs can creep
a rain surprise in hasty splash
that brings forth thunder with a flash
newborn kittens in loft of hay
song of sparrow at end of day––
dogwood blossoms in Arkansas,
a welcome time chock-full of awe.

© Freeda Baker Nichols

 

 

When Last the Dogwood Blossomed . . .

Dogwood on the Hill

When last the dogwood blossomed on the hill,
the sun was bright that April kind of day.
The birds sang sweetly and the breeze was still.
My love promised: “I’ll never go away.”

Walking up the hill, I thought
how vows are sometimes broken.
Pinned to the tree, I found his note,
its only word: “Goodbye.”

I might find someone else and fall in love.
But I doubt that will ever be the case.
My heart turned cold that April afternoon
when last the dogwood blossomed on the hill.

Copyright 2013, Freeda Baker Nichols