Twigs, sticks, grey and lifeless.
Pretending to be dead,
fooling me.
I’m easily fooled.

Sharp, brittle,
and ugly.
Yes, like the duckling.
You know the story.

Transformation,
ugly turns beautiful.
We all finally rejoice
because pretty is better.

But this isn’t a story
with a perfect ending.
It’s a perfect cycle
with no real ending.

So now we’re at pretty,
and winter is forgiven
as life gently wakes
with a warm good morning kiss.

Perched on a branch she watches
lifeless things in garden beds
burst into bud, colour spilling
out over the brown.

Cheerleaders line the streets
with their pom-pom blossoms.
And colourful parades throw confetti
while her naked feet dance.

There’s so much to see,
my eyes can’t keep up.
And deep within me
a sigh turns to song.

If I listen closely
to her warm inviting voice
she will gently remind me
of the words I already know.

So together we sing
after nights long rest
knowing this perfect moment
is just one before the next.

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  1. Margaret says:

    Once more meg, beautifully written with your deft and delicate signature. May this day afford you a ‘perfect’ moment. namaste

  2. Sven Seifert says:

    Wow, that should make all people smile. Great work.

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