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!
15 March 2017 at 07:44
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
15 March 2017 at 14:25
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