Spring comes early this
year, showering Earth with buds,
after a waterless then smoke-filled
season, the sense of growth
Hopefully, there is no whirlwind
stirring, not a bank of snow
waiting silently around the corner,
plotting his swift assault
But if there is a snow to come,
all these sounds can be briefly
swallowed in muffled powder,
we will bud again.
By JD DeHart
JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. His poems have appeared in Gargouille and The Other Herald, among other publications. DeHart blogs at jddehartpoetry.blogspot.com.