The feisty forsythia thrusts itself into the blue violet air of spring,
everywhere joyously poking and jabbing,
Atwhirl among the city trash or dancing down an open field,
It won't stop saying - 'Yes'!
Except of course, where some fool
has brutally whacked its spirit into an ugly ball.
Then it squeezes out an occasional desultory bloom,
just to show what might have been.
Dear Nancy,
ReplyDeleteLovely to start this somewhat dreary morning with your bright forsythia literally "springing" off the page. Also fun to read the accompanying poem describing so well this early stalwart of the garden. Thank you.