Late Spring*
by zoss in poésieEach branch tipped
with a folded cone, gasping
like fish in air:
Spring is late, limping.
Now a goldfinch flits
by the feeder — a daffodil
with wings.
by Susan Robertson.
(*first seen on the bus on a cloudy late Spring afternoon.)
Comment by Maxxed`ouT — 30/6/2007 @ 3:08
I love bus poetry, one of the things i miss most about Paris.