I heard your voice
It called
A lovely song
This grey and arctic day
To sound like spring
I looked beyond
My window to the trellis
Strung
With remnant vine
Of bittersweet
And bittersweet the notes
That rang
From tangled days of fall
Where rose and ivy’s frozen grip
Clung brittle to the wall
And though I searched each
Knitted nest
And wind swept sky
The notes alone were mine
My minstrel of the morn
I could not see
But feathered thoughts
Of crimson
Sang to me
Sara Mathews January 2016
