To think of burying gold
When it hangs for free in the air
Just beyond the lover’s reach,
Just above her hair.
There beyond the snouts of dogs,
The winter-fingered trees
But bright and strong and in my eyes
The shining coin of spring’s surprise
It hangs to tempt and tease.
The crocus tips are up
And the night has returned to its hours
And all the city folk are glad
To tell seasons by the flowers.
Past the sour smell of square white bread
Put out to feed the birds
I route my return in time to pray
And gently finish the first spring day
With a gentler ring of words.