…of blossoms

The season of blossoms always drifts quietly in
like a silken thread trembling in the wind
but just as the melting snow, carried by the stream
in time the fragrance and the light will flow
birdsong greets the dawn with musical magic
and the blushing roses, faces lifted to the sun
shyly revealing their aching hearts
to the ever patient waiting morn
© Ann Bagnall