A Poem
By Naughter Reelnaim

Spring creeps up the canyons,
swelling buds and rising sap,
and crocus and hyacinth erect
their tall masting shafts and swollen heads,
and pussy willows soft and furry mounds
ache to be caressed
by warm, moist breezes,
and touched by tongues of
burning sunlight.
I am girl in this Spring, standing,
dizzy from the buzzing bees
that, fat torpedoes,
vibrate past my vulnerable,
tender, tangle of
ear blossom and lush lobe.
I am girl amid these rushing rivers, standing,
tugged by tides of moon and melt,
rushed by racing gushing flow,
roiling, tumbling and foaming
my inner salty seas in sympathy
with the Springing waters.
I am girl among returning birds, standing,
flitting and winging back, from where?
their songs shrill and sublime swirl
and echo from trees and eaves,
a calliope of celebration
of flying, of flocking, of laying,
of feeding feathered cheeping children,
so clouds and choirs of birds will sing
next Spring.
I am girl in the days of my Spring, standing,
aware of the ache of the pussy willow,
the fat busy bees,
rejoicing birds returning
and, most of all aware
of the rush of rivers within me flowing,
but where? The canyons have
always been here, but I have
a single Spring in my life;
I feel her pulling me,
but where?