Monday, March 3, 2014

The Bridge of Disappointment

winter curls it's icy hand
around my upper arm
and won't let go;

sleet slices through the cold air
blowing, drifting snow, ice
as I wait here;

across the bridge, sunshine waits
beckoning me with warmth
blue skies, flowers;

I want to cross over there
itching to feel new grass
on my bare feet;

arms outstretched under the sun
birdsong sweet to my ears
buzz of insects;

but for now . . .

winter curls it's icy hand
around my upper arm
and won't let go;

© Lydia Lowe 03/01/14

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