Caught a hint of ochre,
from the corner of my eye
dripping from an April dawn,
warming the tips
of frail infant twigs,
imbibing the chill
of natures spring mist,
dancing on petals,
victoria-pink,
softly turning ivory,
blanketing infant grass blade
with the stunning white beauty
of a late springtime snowfall.
All this I saw quite resplendently
while ensconced in my wicker chaise.
And all is swept away
before the ides of June,
that just a month ago-
sugared the winds of lions breath
with a lilt of Magnolia breeze,
tickling the lamb's that chased the lion's
from their opend cage of winter wrath,
that allows me to lounge in my wicker chaise,
endulge the scents, and majestic scenes
that place themselves before me,
and that I take with me wherever I go.
So I revel in this myriad
of winters Segway splendor
its prologue to springtide
and my brow line and crows-feet
bear squinted grooves
from a blinding April strike
of a glausterman sunset,
the kind that sailors romance
when the salt and sea becomes
their loves and lusts.
I reach for my ''Kenny-Coles'',
shades wrapped tautly, and smooth
dressed in true Nubuck leather.
And I ensconce in my wicker chaise,
the sweet honey breeze takes me
to memories of my first springtime love.
Change is on the verge of Springs deliverance,
Her fresh bloom unfolding....in such Shangri-la
as magically utopic as Hilton's ''Lost Horizon''.
© 2015-All rights reserved
Frank James Ryan Jr. / FjR
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