The Corner

Culture

Poetry

THE CUSP OF SUMMER

Geese in skies are on the wing.

The pointed flock, triangle-shaped,

Announce with honks the start of spring

When tall green trees are softly draped.

 

Trumpeting starts off everything

Once more. Black bees have just escaped

And every mote begins to sing,

And roses, that were pruned and taped

To stiffened sticks begin to cling,

Expand their blooms, carnation-shaped,

While crocus form a purple ring.

Arriving just a little late,

They get here just as daffodils

Are wilting. Then the summer spills.

 

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