Another Spring Poem

Fields
almost green
almost gray
streaked with purple stripes (henbit)
like a Monet painting.

Yellows yell from every corner,
daffodills and forsynthia
seedheads on the sweetgum.

How can anyone walk a suburban street
in April
and not believe in something
someone
greater than themselves?
A hundred birds in symphony
dandelions decorating driveway cracks
azeleas ready to burst into blazes
the purple majesty of lilac and wisteria
all that grows and gleams

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poem by W.I. Stoneberger
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March Mornings

It sings to me
- the tree, the window tree.
Its leaves open as melodies
to the sheen of Spring.

It speaks to me
its words of green,
says now is the time
for everything.

It fills my dreams
with hopes and things,
making me believe
in what is yet to be.

The tree, the window tree,
brings the birds to me.
Songs come fluttering,
sliding on sun beams.

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poem by W.I. Stoneberger
Added by Poetry Lover
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