In speckled blue of spring eggs
splatted, Krabbelurer but
regular, with flecks of gold,
returning iris thrust through
winter soil to catch my breath;
shyly full of mystery
Unlike their midnight cousins’
deeply silent contrasts, these
sing with soft promises of
life; age and innocence of
love, of laced fragrance and hope;
bleached magic of summer sun.
A forever winding road.