Northern Springs

In an old farmhouse
on a bluff high above the Ontario shore
I used to yearly greet spring...
joined by the majestic hawk
and the lowliest field mouse...

audience to the robin’s song
The trillium's glory spoke of her coming
and the shy wood violet too...
hiding among the leeks
Winter would brokenheartedly
break up the ice along the waters edge
and set cold white ships adrift
to return nevermore
Behind the old house
the giant snowballs
rose in white bloom

above the yellow daffodils
The old cherry orchards white glow
dispelled the morning gloom
and the blush of the apple blossoms
would rival the spring dawn
Those I miss...
but the dearest missing thing
is waking up to the scent
of a northern lilac spring.

Webmaster: Thurman P. Woodfork

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