soon there will be robins

darting across the yard

stopping, cocking their heads

before pouncing

and pulling another worm from the soil

fresh new poppies are pushing up

among the brown stalks of last year

cloud shadows come and go

playing lazy light games across the new grass

the clouds merge

light dims

it smells like rain

a perfect day to muse, to dream

to banish the cries and clamor

that robs us of ourselves

Copyright Michael Douglas Scott