April

She tiptoes
over new fallen snow,
brings a tulip bud
as it searches
for its life

Her furious blows
try to hold on to
winter, she’s a
blowhard,
we don’t
take her
might

And the tulip finds a place.

Cold air you can inhale
with a breath,
sounds, chirping
birds, a trees
song

New touchable grass
is velvety-
mowed,
snipped,
blades make
a face
twitch.

April wins, wrapped up in a bloom.

©  right now, Denise A White    nature • spring • seasons • hope