by Susan Petrone
On every tree, the branches bare
No leaves, no green, no life shows there.
Every building in my sad town
Wears a snowy, slushy crown.
I know beneath the snow and cold
The earth lies dormant, patient, bold.
How I long for Spring’s arrival
and a spiritual revival.
Few sights can make you feel so grand
As the first flower to make a stand.
Nor are there words that sound so sweet
as “pitchers and catchers report this week.”
This poem originally appeared on Susan’s Indians website, It’s Pronounced Lajaway.