Waiting

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.