Two Seasonal Poems

Hope for wearied eye

By Sarah Ogle

petals pale and folded tight,

leaving hope for wearied eye,

all in Spring’s good time to bloom.

the gaze did stay ‘midst the light

through bleeding heart and many tries,

all to find one day she grew.

Without Me

By Ginna Baker

Frozen before my time,

I stand stock still

As the grass stiffens with frost,

The wind’s tune changing

To a high, whistling moan.

My heart echoes its sadness.

Time moves, spins the world;

Its hand circumscribes my hall clock.

A plane waits for me on the runway,

The intercom calling my name.

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But here I stand, loading plate,

Cup, knife, spoon, into slots;

Sleeping, working, eating, praying,

This first September away from school.

The fall chimes clang a welcome,

My friends laugh at the squirrels

My world leaves me behind.

Again I wash the forks,

Standing stock still,

Feeling the Earth move.

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