spring morning

bouquet of a yellow dandelions in dark vase
Violets are thick in the grass.
You’re not here
to hear the robins.

Maple blossoms morph into copper wings.
They await the release
of one single whirling flight.

Dandelions show their sunny faces.
Crowded into a jelly jar
their milky stems split and curl back.

You pick them and they don’t last.
Even so,
you pick them.

Sharon Hilberer

Sharon Hilberer has taught English as a Second Language in the Minneapolis Public Schools for many years. A language geek from the get-go, her poems grow out of overheard and remembered conversations and from listening to the natural world.