Sunrise

Sunrise
Sunrise on Sunset Beach

Saturday, May 9, 2020

In Days of White Clover

Mid-spring comes to small town South 
when Chinaberry bursts in purplish hues 
beside abandoned homesteads.

Honeysuckle scents the soft air 
and wisteria drapes weary trees 
with a heavy lavender shroud.

Weeks break in fragrant waves. 
Fields that featured buttercup 
streak yellow ragwort now.

Time keeps the spring flowers 
from blooming all at once. 
Time keeps our ghosts apart.

These are the days of white clover  
when raucous bands of dandelion 
stalk the slopes of suburban lawns. 

This is the time the tanager returns 
flitting red through high branches 
amidst a hundred shades of green. 

This is the season of tender leaves
when cool winds sift the canopy 
with a soothing woodland sigh.

The world teems with calls and songs, 
lilts and chortles, wheets and teeters, 
chucks, clucks, caws and cheers.

Now is the time of new life. Why 
should I keep from singing?