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Gossamer Spring
by   Wrigley

Words like pudding, frosting my tongue;
limp sounds parading, shy of gait. I fumble
through the gorge of emotions, hoping
your rhythm strengthens mine.

Like gossamer spring, gently nudging bloom,
I rise upon a season that engages exchange,
and when I find my simple voice without slur, 
I'll bring you lilac's too.
        

Poem ID: 15205   Poem Posted: 6/7/1999
Viewed: 13038  Voted On: 171  E-mailed: 15  Commented On: 1
 
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Copyright , 05-22-99, Wrigley  all rights reserved by the author.
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