Springshine
Sneakers creep to guard
his secret grin, half shy
under touseled blondness.
He holds behind him
Treasure.
“Flowers, Mama.”
Bright in his muddy fist
daffodil trumpets on tiptoed stems,
harbingers of fluid warmth.
We share aware their glow
prepare to care and grow.
A gift of love to banish coldness
A gift of life to promise newness—
Springshine!
from Glimpses: a Memoir in Poetry
