Into the new day’s wake
The blue spirit’s dances
Faded
The poet’s head rises
His heart beats-up
To an inner calling
The Muse’s voice whispers
Her words though clear:
There’s still just time left for
Hands held entwined
The tender touching hearts
Minds already synced in
Love’s beginning dialogues
For renewing seasons
Like an early spring
Has entered a sacred space
Where love dwells in recluse
In the sparkling of her stars
Lucky present constellations
That the time has ripened
Like white flowers of almonds
And cherry tree blossoms
For the Rites of Spring.
RITES.SETIR
zoltanzelan
ZJG-POetry’20.