By Lisa Lickel
February is the thinnest month, ebbs
Love and moon-tide, waves of floods of
Observances for presidents no longer in
Office, of silent human trains,
Whispering souls still long
For dignity across the line.
Candied hearts and cherry pie.
Reach upward, sleepy bulb,
Breach loam for ice blue light.
Six weeks more of steamy glasses and lacy breath.
Winter wanes at month's end, waxing March feeds streams
Breaking ice cover, swirling snails like pebbles along bottoms.
The squill shoot blue spikes through the snow.
Popple buds swell, pregnant, red on whispy branches,
While the oak will not give up its dead.
Love and moon-tide, waves of floods of
Observances for presidents no longer in
Office, of silent human trains,
Whispering souls still long
For dignity across the line.
Candied hearts and cherry pie.
Reach upward, sleepy bulb,
Breach loam for ice blue light.
Six weeks more of steamy glasses and lacy breath.
Winter wanes at month's end, waxing March feeds streams
Breaking ice cover, swirling snails like pebbles along bottoms.
The squill shoot blue spikes through the snow.
Popple buds swell, pregnant, red on whispy branches,
While the oak will not give up its dead.
A special surprise comes from Lisa this month--she is offering a
copy of The Gold Standard, a print version of my cozy mystery,
to the first person who can correctly identify all the allusions in the poem. If you think you have the answer, leave a comment below, along and information on how we can reach you. Have fun!
 |
| Please note, this is NOT the give-away book, but Lisa's latest, due out in April. |
