Windows open to spring,
soft breeze rustles lace curtains.
Backyard crocus peek about
as lawn greens ‘neath lemon sun.
Down comforter billows on clothesline,
and one feather floats gracefully
toward cirrus clouds above.
My granddaughter and I are trading poetry prompts each month. For April, she asked that I write a poem using the word “gracefully.” Stella is 10.