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In March exact shadows on snow,

blue in the spectrum overtakes lavender;

the pillows of vapor at a slow bedroom gallop.


Up, up, the whistle pierces; the burn

of one and one, couples the rising

yearn, twin twine, dare,

and thickening flash in shoals.


Even deep-rooted conifers,

their green wax fangs open,

hustling in the languorous swells.


— Ruth Stone

About poetreecreations

I am an author writer publisher web administrator I run poetry workshops in the community. My published Manners childrens poetry book can be found at

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