… back from my travels… I turn around and once again, it’s Almost April
Almost April:
when crocuses,
aconites
speckle colors
on frigid earth,
and buried bulbs unfurl
their green fingers —
Somewhere
a cold cauldron sits
atop a flame,
warmth simmers:
imperceptible
as approaching dawn.
Almost morning:
when softest tones tiptoe
through purple darkness,
and wakening lark arises
in radiant song,
ruptures
daybreak deafness.
Almost laughter.
by D. G. Vachal © 2012
lilies, sparrows and grass 
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