The sun has shone again
through glen and field and fen,
and though old Winter glares
the flowers grow in layers.
Shy roses peer from overhead--
though we had thought them long-since dead,
but with the biting wind now gone
the birds have roused them with sweet song.
Around our feet brash poppies play
to celebrate the end of gray.
The daisies too cast out the gloom
and spin their leaves from nature's loom.
Betwixt us lilacs lay
so soft in sun-brushed day,
I cannot help but say:
I love you, come what may.
Author notes
Hahaha. It's been awhile since I wrote in meter/rhyme, and an equally long time since I've done something like this. Something about the sun today made me want to write trite poetry.
More flower meaning stuff. Lilacs again for first love, poppies for imagination, and roses for (of course) passionate love.
Comments
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Aw, maybe it's a *little* trite, but that's okay every once in a while. It was sweet, and the image was lovely... it's very spring-y and the flower meaning stuff is pretty cool.
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Hehe, thank you.
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