poetry by j matthew waters

the bluest of november days

those bulbs I planted in november
keep quiet underground
buried like bad memories
dying to stretch to the surface

by the time january arrives
all is but forgotten
wiped away by a clean
sheet of freshly fallen snow

march came roaring in like a lion
and departed like a lamb
the jet stream passing favors
to the earliest of risers

on may day the flowers opened
bright and smartly sassy
I smiled but then remembered
about the bulbs
and sadly I was taken back
all the way to november

april two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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2 thoughts on “the bluest of november days

  1. I will never look a daffodil in their face without recalling dread of fall.

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