Saturday, April 4, 2015

Spring moning poem

April morning


 
Wet gray pre-dawn
I step out past the slider
the air is like tepid, too cool
to be comfortable bath water
my cupped left hand holds
the diced heel of stale dry rye
bread, I toss it on the grass
for the geese that will come
or other birds if they come first
the trees across the street
are loudly alive with songs
and calls of many unseen birds.

(the photo is an autumn scene, I will have to go out with my camera, maybe I'll replace it)

3 comments:

Kass said...

Picture and poem so real and lovely with nice touches of how you live.

barbara judge said...

June -- Isn't spring great when you have mornings like you describe! -- barbara

June Calender said...

Thanks to you both. I'm really so happy spring is finally coming.