Musk at dawn, rising like the mist
from open fields and woods. It’s almost spring
across our world, starting with snowdrops
and dew, light on the grass. You smile;
and minutes pass, always, passing.
And the tenseness of the buds propels
sunlight, spiralling onwards and upwards till
cold blueness reminds us
all, that winter watches still.
Yet it’s warm in the sun, and brave
souls and shoots emerge, despite
the warning scars, of last year’s fights
and joys. Which cannot wait – I’ll test
the day with you, if you’ll permit,
and bask in fragile light until
musty minutes condense
the flavours of the day.
And it is dark once more.
A response to this week’s wewritepoems prompt, which is ‘musty minutes’. It is simply such a beautiful time of year here that I have to write about it, whatever the prompt!