Late Spring Color

[So I'm still around and thinking poetry, but I haven't been posting much while I first finished our tax returns, then prepared the house for Passover. Now that I have a weekend before me with no huge project hanging over me, I hope to catch up on a couple of prompts. This poem was inspired by both the Totally Optional Prompt "late spring" and Tricia's Monday Poetry Stretch to write about color (though this doesn't go straight at that challenge - rather a bit sideways). I will likely keep playing with this a little - I think I want to add some more interior rhymes to it, but I thought I'd share this at this stage anyway. (I read somewhere that "golden bells" is another name for forsythia, which had too many syllables for my taste today.)]




Late Spring Color

I turn my back
on the pale, pale green
of the maple tree
in spring.
I shun the bright,
white locust blooms
and the cloying scent
they bring.

Mere memories:
the tender, tiny
crocuses
in snowdrifts.
And yet a dream
the lilac scents
that'll welcome June
with heart lifts.

My late-spring days
are glowing now
with golden cups
of daffodils,
and shining sprays
to greet each morn
a dazzling row
of golden bells.

A brilliant yellow
halo meets
my winter-weary
eyes,
a hug of mellow
sun-like warmth,
a talisman in
disguise.