Spring yawns; and blossoms spill into my ear,
as winter breaks the mirror of a tear.
Eyes rhapsodize in piquant shades of blue.
Kisses fall soft as rain in morning dew.
Dawn unbraids luminous hair with a sigh,
bright filaments of light that span the sky;
and molten is the moment of return,
when roses in their whirling start to burn.
On prisms of a rainbow pirouette,
she sashays into golden silhouette
then somersaults into divinest art
as words that woo the poet’s beating heart.
A source of divination born in rows
of silken strokes of poetry and prose,
in the green palm of all eternity,
she is planted that she might flower free.
Linda Marie Van Tassell
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/source-3/
