Winter’s veil is ever surely lifting
from top-iced, frozen birdbath in my yard,
Crackling, melting, straining wavelets shifting,
While finches perch like sentries standing guard.
Perhaps it’s spring thawed days for which I long,
For balmy breezes wafting o’er my face,
To wake once more to robin’s sparkle song,
Presaging shining morns of dew-dropped lace.
Reflections on my pond of budding blooms,
Tips of dogwood frame the mourning doves
soft chanting; nature’s symphony resumed,
Beyond, the blue-sky backdrop hangs above.
Complex simplicity – how can it be,
A tiny birdbath so inspires me.