Particular Moments

Everywhere one looks,
All is still gray—

Buds of a New
Season remain
Unconscious,

Yet to have
Awakened,
Ungerminated—

But somehow,
Creatures of
The eternal
Singsong
Always arrive
Before time—

Preceding
The sprouting,
Gentle greens;
Predicting
The vibrance of
Blooming passions.

Quietly
They glide
In flight,

To
and
Fro,

In the air,
Unseen,
But felt
Within—

Sitting
Invisible
Among
Barren branches,
They whisper
As the caressing
Breeze,

Foreshadowing
Wonder
and
Rescue
Of A new Spring.