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A poem by Merril D. Smith
I dreamt the sky a promise of bird-blue,
the wind a light-fingered caress, the licorice taste of spring
all around us, cow parsley in a honeyed glow—
I laughed at how they white petal winked.
Could you? Would you? You asked,
your questions loomed high and distant as the ancient cathedral,
whose bells tolled, it is time, come.
I heard the echo as I woke alone,
the scent of crushed cow parsley on my pillow.
Merril D. Smith writes from southern New Jersey, where she is inspired by walks along the Delaware River. Twitter: @merril_mds Instagram: mdsmithnj merrildsmith.com
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