on the way

peaceful rivers thaw, fall away for sprig with leave,
buds like jewels, open perfumed
fragrant grasses willowy reeds, time the inevitable
passes entrapped in sap like molasses stems bent on pent up
blends of buttercups peeking through cracks of evening seems would
never end-no more grieving-birds sing sweetly recurring the stirring
moments yearn, caterpillars
turn inside out into butterflies, delicately cross moss marsh
and bog to rest their wings in nettled boughs and fly again to capture
a rose as honey to a bee, looking long for freedom found sees the
world upside down, in rapture little does she want, the air is lovely
this time of year, her wings a collage glide ever taut, as trim as a
sail on the rocks
on the way by the bay for a jaunt.