These Weeks

wind blew through

these weeks

like some stray

mistral muse

on her way

to distant places

too wild and winsome

to refuse

such a fuss stirred up

all the little birds

who flap’d from tree

to roof to nest

but still the hungry young

kept crying

little wings

found little rest

while in the soil

seeds were sprouting

on trickling rain

and earthly food

buds were forming

slowly growing

May's fine flowers

taking root

April's storms have

slashed my windows

the trees outside

shook to and fro

but inside

warm and safe

no life is tended

and nothing grows

~e