the prettiest of days.
Spring really showed up
in a blue gingham dress.
Snow was a distant memory strewn
over the silent hills .
Quietly.
Brightly painted tricycles lay
discarded in the street.
As the children of winter
came out to play.
By tea time the chill had come again,
televisions blinking their blue neon lights
from warm living rooms.
I thought of you.
Far away across the poppy fields.
I know you will come again,
turning up
as unexpected
as a flower.
