March Snow
Familiar sense when walk out doors to a March snow,
Drawn back in time to teenager.
Something about the look, smell, and beauty of youth,
Pulls a youngness to the surface.
Contrasts all around,
Green of grass pierces snow.
Disked fields, chocolate cake with thin vanilla frosting,
Snow melts rapidly.
Gray sky soon to give way,
Anticipation of sun bursting through.
Doves perched together cooing,
Horses neighing, acknowledging me.
Quietness of non-mechanical,
Only sounds are of living things.
Trees resisting the wind,
Footsteps on gravel.
About the Author: Brian Bucks lives on a small horse ranch in Western Nebraska and is a husband, father, electrical engineer, and poet.
Familiar sense when walk out doors to a March snow,
Drawn back in time to teenager.
Something about the look, smell, and beauty of youth,
Pulls a youngness to the surface.
Contrasts all around,
Green of grass pierces snow.
Disked fields, chocolate cake with thin vanilla frosting,
Snow melts rapidly.
Gray sky soon to give way,
Anticipation of sun bursting through.
Doves perched together cooing,
Horses neighing, acknowledging me.
Quietness of non-mechanical,
Only sounds are of living things.
Trees resisting the wind,
Footsteps on gravel.
About the Author: Brian Bucks lives on a small horse ranch in Western Nebraska and is a husband, father, electrical engineer, and poet.
Image from this morning in Western Nebraska.
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