Bird of Passage

hearts of  glass
etched deep by winter’s icy fingers
……………deny an urge to wander
freight trains
lure with their lonesome song
the whistle whispers,
………………..“Come on, Come on”
March wind joins in
with its own seduction
………………….calling all to follow
it’s hardly spring
months before the wild goose flies
……….yet, autumn is in your eyes

What Next, March?

The breath of April
warmed February days
so I cleaned the closets,
put winter clothes away
and brought out Spring;
light cottons sprigged with buds
that soon would bloom.
Oh, how the gods
rubbed their hands with glee,
and this morning,
quite unceremoniously,
I sneezed,
even before I saw the snow.