Early Spring!

early spring?
windblown sunlight,
patches of shadow.
the threat of thunder,
storms drip from the cup.

bare branches budding,
sap on the rise.
this old body rises
from its wintry grave!

the fire that smoldered
laps out in flame.
the need to touch,
to create, and to die.

early spring?
a tornado, or just echoes.
the ghost of winter still lurks,
and tugs at the door!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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