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May 20, 2024


By Mark W. Swarthout

A graduated blue, in many a hue
Stretches from horizon to horizon.
Clouds scurry by, to darken the sky
The sunshine cannot be relied on.

The ground is mud, covered with crud
The grass is all brown and depressing
The call of a bird, can now be heard
As it welcomes the arrival of spring.

The lake and bay are a dirty flat gray
No home to the ducks and the geese.
The new spring melt can hardly be felt
As the ice struggles hard to unfreeze.

The waters of the north will soon be seen
In wonderful shades of azure and green
Reflecting the sky that sits up so high
The grass will once more be clean.

Article © Mark W. Swarthout. All rights reserved.
Published on 2006-04-24
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