If we were farmers up with dawn,
would we see the sun rise
with any anticipation?
Or would we lean exhausted
into the task before us,
numb routine erasing each day?
I am a child of the city,
far from fields' tidy rows,
yet early to wake before the sun
lightens the sky,
my potted patio pansies a whimsy,
fragile as any bird's nest
snugged between a willow's branch
and April's winds.
|Duck's Nest Under Willow,|
St. James Park
by Renee Rosen-Wakeford (Flickr)
Join the blog hop for the Blogging A to Z Challenge or NaPoWriMo -- both to celebrate April, National Poetry Month.