Unseen, unheard, on branches light she crept,
Spring, to the window pane, her promise kept.
No fanfare loud, no trumpet's brash acclaim,
Just gentle fingers, whispering her name.
A soft, green sigh, a burgeoning of bloom,
Chasing the winter's chill from every room.
The world outside, begins to stir anew,
As spring, unnoticed, softly slips through.
Spring s Gentle Touch
© Copyright: Лариса Сенегал, 2024
Свидетельство о публикации №124091606988
Свидетельство о публикации №124091606988
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