Pitter patter
on curved edge
of the umbrella,
and on the top
where it lays flatter,
come sprinkle-drizzle
gentle drops,

My ready ear
bends out to hear,
what I then
send on to you
through pixil dots–

a little of
that quenching rain,
an infiltrating, quiet greeting
to bless your day
until we next
find ourselves meeting.

in the time
that’s in between,
we each can watch
the season’s switch
by our year’s clock,
in our sundry
global spots,

no matter whether
dry or wet
or sun or fog,

buds, stubs or blooms,
worms hiding moist
deep in earth homes,

or winter, spring , summer or fall,

fields silent–

or awash with sound,
a multitude birds tweeting.

This entry was posted in Medium Length Poems, Poetry, Seasons, Spring and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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