My Spring

It seems I only wrote of winter

And gloomy days of fall.

My words would sting like splinters,

And scratch me with their claws.

 

Now that I know this life,

With springtime on my skin,

I do not see the old strife,

Only letting sunshine in.

 

Now the sun's behind me

Making shadows on the street.

These long spring days remind me

To get back on my feet.

 

To think of things to come

In the wondrous way things do.

All the mysteries I came from

And how they led to you.

This poem is about: 
Me

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