[NicknamedBob]

"We seem to have reached the Not Winter part of the year. It’s that time of year in the winter that is not really winter, but not really spring, either. I keep scanning the trees to see if there are any little green things starting to peep out on their ways to becoming leaves, but so far, nothing."

Sonnet to Almost Spring

The flowers stir, and stretch their tender shoots,
Awakened by a warmth come softly seeping,
“Rise up!” the call has traced their hidden roots,
To rouse them from their winter’s peaceful sleeping.

The den of slumbers has become,
A din of noisy childish clatter.
Impetuous and impish in its sum,
They split the earth and clamber up its ladder.

Emerging into sunlit air, and softening caresses,
Of nurture at its basest form, the soil on which we stand,
Which all too quickly grips them and compresses,
As night falls much too early in the land.

False spring has lured them out. Cruel season’s dying play,
Receding from the shores of Spring, the Winter ebbs away.

NicknamedBob . . . . . . . . . March 17, 2007

[Monkey Face]

Thanks, Bob. That’s very nice!

[Silentgypsy]

Thank you, Bob!

[no-to-illegals]

Thanks Bob