Growing Days Poem by Dianne Feaver
Growing Days
The last few piles of winter snow,
gray and pockmarked, still remain,
reluctant targets for winds that blow
in biting rain.
These tenacious gargoyles resist
their sure erosion and cling,
desperate, in the leeward drifts
of... everything.
Everyday in measured decrease
they grasp, despite fate's certain ways,
to witness the dazzling spring release
of growing days.
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5/4/2024 12:05:42 AM # 1.0.0.1119
