pries loose snow mask from mountain caps.
Water trickles, begins to overflow,
swiftly runs downstream.
stifled too long.
Confined by lockdowns,
hidden by masks from view.
propagate in spring.
Sun strengthens as do we,
spilling out to streets.
It’s Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Today Sarah asks us to include the word “swift” or a form of the word (not a synonym) in our exactly 44 word poem, sans title. Photo from Pixabay.com
I fervently believe we are emerging from the season of Covid. Stay safe everyone and let’s insure this happens.