I dream with fields and forests
entwined with resting roots,
cozy beneath the snowy coverlet,
curled around the glowing
ember of contentment
deep in winter sleep.
The door bursts open.
I am buoyed upwards by bird song.
Freshening breezes drift me out
and over dandelion seas glowing golden.
Infant leaves tremble on twig tips,
and I long to touch my lips to each one.
I tip my face to the smiling sun.
Green sap surges in my veins.
Frog chorales rise to crescendo
They sing! I sing! We sing!
Susan Krause, Ridgeway