Joy Sings

Joy sings
from every tree,
trills and whistles
embrace me.

Spring shines
with buttercup eyes
as tiny wrens
flit on by.

I came dark
with winter’s grief,
eyes and roots
hiding deep.

Rising up
from memory,
cloud-hearted days
are lifting me.

Here is another joyful poem, hoping it lifts your spirits, dear readers.-Giulietta

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Last Snow

Birds, twigs
in beaks,

busy as a
flurry of snow
in the not-yet Spring.

Dust motes
floating, falling
blowing horizontal,
busy bright
in the light
of the sun.

Yellow tulips
on my windowsill –

Winter holds
to snow bones.

Lengthening days
welcome the flight
of birds, of us.

Others stop here.

Snow, busy busy
covers all who
choose to remain

those who are
not fleet-winged

those who are still,
asleep.

After warmer weather the snow has returned to Cambridge, UK. And this is to those lost from the world this winter, claimed by the season.

Autumn Girl

The woman in the
paper cup
looked up.

Her still brown
eye met mine
the other too
bright
gazed past
at the star
swirling night.

She smiled so I
whispered slow
‘who will I
be, where will I
go?’

My coffee cold
turned black to gold
to show a girl
under a bejeweled
tree with falling
red and amber leaves.

‘Not spring, where
new hope sings?’

One eye dimmed
her voice a
cosmic wind
‘In the endless flight
of a brilliant
leaf just before
winter’s night.’

‘Not summer in
radiant heat?’

‘No’ the light
in her eye
glinted deep.
‘But not in
winter’s sleep.’

With this thought
to keep, the coffee
took her black
and deep.

I left the cup
I had drunk too much.

Now I know
I’m falling slow
the afternoon light
kissing through trees
has never moved me
with such
beauty.