Poetry

Not Yet Spring

You open

up the door,

and feel like

at last,

you are free.

You see the

snow,

so bright,

that

it blinds you.

You feel the

radiant,

green leaves

that 

are as soft as a fleece blanket.

You hear the

water,

trickling down the gutters,

that

used to be snow on the roof.

You smell the

rain,

a smell you want to savor forever,

that 

hopefully will pour down soon.

You taste the 

fruit,

sweet and juicy

that

will be plentiful in the summer.

Then,

you see the bare trees swinging back and forth,

you feel the icy wind, chilling the air,

you hear the wind chimes, chiming with the wind,

you smell the rain that will soon be snow,

and

you taste the bitter fruit that you eat now.

It

yet 

Spring.