C J McDowell
“I come this time each year,
yet you’ve seemed to beat me here,”
Winter playfully chided.
“For May I could not wait,
and since you were running late,”
said Spring, “I simply decided.”
“Then will you dance with me?”
asked Winter to Spring,
“we need not have a reason.
We may meet just this once,”
Winter said with a bow,
“for I feel a changing of the season.
“So set flutes in the trees
on your billowing breeze,
the sweet music that only you know.
Hold back your showers,
just bring with you flowers
and I’ll drape the ballroom with snow.”
So dance they did,
Winter and Spring,
swirling in a sweeping arch.
Twirling together
to a silent tune,
a waltz in the middle of March.
“Shall I kiss you good-bye?”
asked Spring with a sigh.
“No, my dear, do not say a word.
I may be leaving here soon,
but through your flowers that bloom,
through your life, my whispers are heard.”
The drapes started to melt,
Winter gave one last bow,
leaving Spring to dance on her own.
In April she cried,
and yet still she grew
lovelier for having him known.
Winning Submission