Waiting
Spring is a fickle trickster.
She tiptoes by,
peeks in the windows,
curls her finger at us,
and tempts us outside
with bouquets of sunny daffodils.
She seduces us
with trails of purple crocuses
lifting their bobbing heads
in the warm sun.
Transfixed, we step out
with smiles wide
to follow her
and soak in her light.
Then she smirks and spins,
and in an instant,
she turns a cold shoulder to us.
She disappears and abandons us
in a whirlwind,
leaving drifts of snow behind
to drape around
the drooping blooms.
Yet, in spite of her rejection,
we wait for her return.
