14 April 2017

The Azalea






She bloomed in the minutes it took
for me to circumnavigate
the house, my small circuit these days.

She was spindly, trembling in breeze
that tried to chase away the mist,
and then pink full.  Triumphant.  Proud.

My heart quickened as if
it too drank tonic from softened
ground through long straws of stems and roots.

And I remembered to sit down,
to take off my sneakers and socks,
and to join in the Rites of Spring.




(April is International Poetry Month.)


My blog poems are rough drafts.   
Please respect my copyright. 
© 2017 Susan L. Chast


3 comments:

Sumana Roy said...

tender and breezy words...beautiful...

Sherry Marr said...

Oh, yay! The rites of spring! We have a hill in the village completely covered in rhododendrons. It is beginning to bloom, and we await the feast.

Martin Kloess said...

Oh yes! You can imagine this in the magic of San Francisco.