Janice Windle Poems
(spring Poems) Trees In March
The early sun
wrapping gaunt limbs in khaki, gold and black.
Like victims of a famine
reaching to the eggshell sky,
they stand in lines, waiting, waiting
for more than the promise of spring.
If Not For Love
If you and I had never met and loved,
My heart would be a tight black bud,
Forever furled, seeming to be promising
A fragrant opening, a spreading bed of roses,
But closed, bitten early by the frost,
Denying access to the butterfly of love.
If my eyes had never opened on your clear gaze,
My blindness, my oblivion, would be complete.