A spread of yellow bright as the sun.
Bequeath with petals to please the bees.
The yellow dandelion whilst appear.
Spring shall est soon be here.
So too, the tiny buttercup will outline the barn.
Or encamp around the floral-led apple tree.
A framework of yellow tiny in size.
Spring’s flower, for dainty hands to hold.
How delicate is this lively hour?
When the male comes to call the female.
And the buds form, seemingly, in mist’s breath.
Heath ground to soften and prove fertile.
I am but the wind say’s the earth.
I do as I please.
And bud what I may.
If it is spring, I will have my sway.
Eggs on the “ground,” my husband says,
“I’m making a mess!”
Must not be breakfast yet.
It can wait. Coffee hasn’t perked yet.
Poet's Corner 
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