A Good Home, Flowering shrubs, Flowers, Garden, Spring, Spring Bulbs, Winter

Dreaming of Spring

On this cold winter day

My dreams are of  May

The garden alive with its flowers

The sun on my face

The joy of this place

Asserting its magical powers

Blog Photo - Tulips Hosta and Forget Me Nots

Blog Photo - Lilacs and forget Me Nots

Blog Photo - Spring Trees and Flowers

It’s not that I hate you, dear Winter

It’s not that you don’t serve us well

You encourage warm hugs

You kill off bad bugs

I really do think you are swell

Blog Photo - Icy Winter evening

But on this winter day

I wish you would stray

To some place that’s missing you so

And bring them your gifts

Of cold and snow drifts

While my flowers bloom all in a row.

Blog Photo - Arbor in Winter

Photos by Hamlin Grange

A Good Home, Cafe, Caribbean Sea, Daydreams, Poem, Tropical Holidays, Tropical Vacation, Winter

A Poem for Don in Winter

I once dropped into

A nondescript café

If you can call it that –

Windows facing a grey wasteland

Of ugly buildings

via: publicdomainpictures.net
Via wikipedia.ca

One table over, a man sighed

And complained about the starkness

Of the place in mid-winter

The mounds of dirty snow

And the leaden skies

Photo via: publicdomainpictures.net
Photo via: publicdomainpictures.net

And I replied –

Without missing a beat

As if I’d known him all my life –

“Let us play a game:

Looking through this window

Google Images
Google Images

We will make the sun shine

And change the dirty snow

Into a white sand beach

Look, there it is

Do you see it?

Google Images
Google Images

Those ugly buildings are

The blue waters of the Caribbean

There! You see the white sails of boats?

And to the left, on the beach

A little girl with a ball?”

Image via Tlm magazine
Image via Tlm magazine

And the stranger picked up the story

Without missing a beat

And saw small boats and white sails

Seashells and coconuts

Children in bright swimsuits

Google Images
Google Images

And felt the warm sunshine

On his arms and face

And off he went to join them

His toes pressing into sand

Frolicking on the beach


And forgot that he was

In a not-quite dignified café

Facing a cold and barren wasteland

One table over

From a stranger.

With thanks to my publisher, Don Bastian, for his patience and kindness at a tough time in my life.