After a long, wicked winter, here is my
Ode to Spring
Those daffodils you wore
lithe and breezy
when the sun nuzzled the snow-dipped fields
and even the butterflies
could not contain their silent laughter —
Was that your way of shrugging
all those naked, wasted nights?
For seven months I have lain here
waiting for your slender tongue
to spark a bit of warmth
between these frigid snow-white cheeks.
Come now
this is not the time for dithering.
The trees are bursting
the crocuses have begun their famous dance.
Up up
you lazy ol’ bear
wake up
shed those hoary scales
let your skin drink the sacred dew
let God’s little creatures
at last come out to play.
The time has come to waltz with the wind.
© Mike Maggio 2014
