Come March – Come April

A poem.

Come March – Come April

Day with its sun colored glasses
Night with its mirrors of moon

Books of the sky that keep turning
Pages of rain smeared runes

You scribble down cartoon faces
Minnows and frogs at the edge

You stare over lines and through spaces
Like a fox hiding out in a hedge

There's a petal to press in the pages
There's a bud that won't ever bloom

While the sun runs away with the rainbow
And the clouds hide the eyes of the moon
 
– B.R. Strahan

 
 
 

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