Robins don't count
how many days to spring,
or wonder if their eggs will hatch.
I've seen three robins so far,
though snow fell like grackle
from the sky this week,
little white reminders
of winter.
I won't count how many winters I've seen
or how many winters are left.
I'd rather celebrate spring-to-come
with each uncurling blossom of early
hyacinth, snowdrop, and tulip,
an end to bundling up with shaggy layers.
Yet my feet remain cold, even
coddled with socks. The earth tips,
revolves, moves forward, not counting
its spin, its glaciers melting, perhaps
the coming of another Ice Age,
sometime within the next 1,500 years.
But I'm not counting.
Catch up on all the poetry prompts from Robert Brewer at Writer's Digest! Today's Poem-A-Day Challenge prompt is simply to write either a counting poem and/or not counting poem.
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