Now I'm leaping over the threshold
harrying snow angels, snug, smug and hesitant
with their folded, stone cold
wings. All in a flurry now, my tepid
breath pursuant. And over the threshold
I go, past tree-tops, readying the raucous rooks,
across brown furrowed fields, where bold
pairing hares will make a match, in amity
or pugnacious bouts to claim a foothold.
The earth, in a widening grin of green
is trailing me, over the threshold.
Since I wrote a Fold styled poem for Autumn, I’m doing the same for Spring and Lisa’s Poetics prompt: Poets Leaping
PoetryPix 