Verdant, mosses beneath arching
lilac branches--bright, velvety,
a tiny secret world;
In earliest spring, windows, at last,
Open, house drinking fresh,
crisp air to quench
a winter-long thirst;
Later, when the day grows soft and
the sun rests
on the moist
Earth below this room,
The scent of violets will alight,
fragile as the powder
on butterflies' wings.
(c) 2014, by Hannah Six
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