Anticipation
Springs in the air, can’t you smell it?
To me the scent can’t be explained
So it makes no sense in trying.
All I know is springs on its way.
Whenever that familiar scent
Arouses these nostrils of mine
It automatically triggers
A colorful, dreamlike collage
In my anticipating mind;
Muted and inanimate till
The first robin redbreast warbles
Its early morning springtime song.
So, in the meantime, I languor
In this feeling called spring fever.
poem by Albert Ahearn
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
