How lovely to have this poem land on my desk all eager to find out what that little perched “divining seer” is beaming about (thank you, Matt, for handing me the baton of an easy rhyme).
Here is the poem so far with my line at the bottom in bold.
A squall of hawk wings stirs the sky.
A hummingbird holds and then hies.
If I could fly, I’d choose to be
Sailing through a forest of poet-trees.
A cast of crabs engraves the sand
Delighting a child’s outstretched hand.
If I could breathe under the sea,
I’d dive, I’d dip, I’d dance with glee.
A clump of crocuses crave the sun.
Kites soar while joyful dogs run.
I sing to spring, to budding green,
to all of life— seen and unseen.
Wee whispers drift from cloud to ear
and finally reach one divining seer
who looks up from her perch and beams—
West Wind is dreaming May, it seems.
And with that little puff of breeze I send the poem on its way to Kim at Flukeprints to discover what happens next in our little spring idyl.
(In case you notice a change in Line 2 of the last stanza, Jone requested the tweak.)
Here’s where the poem has been so far and where it’s going: