Today's prompt was to write a poem about something that returns.
Last day of Napowrimo, always a melancholy one.
Loved it, as always. Such a challenge to have to write a poem every day, but then again, such fun too waking up knowing, by hook or by crook, there will be a poem at the end of the day. That if we actually take the time and sit down to write it, a poem will more than likely appear.
April
Every year, she returns.
The Muse, with her posy
of poetry, her bouquets
of beautiful sentiments
and newly bloomed words.
After winter-weary hours
and fallow fields of pages,
she is welcome.
In her chariot of flowers
trailing ideas for miles and miles,
showering petal blessings
on our ordinary days. Everything
tinged with wonder again,
as we take up our pens
and sing her songs.
Return
Happiness will return,
like the swallows in May,
cartwheeling through skies,
the bluest hue of new beginnings,
feelings infallible, indelible.
Happiness will return,
like the swallows in May
shiny-coated, sun-wheeling
acrobats of air
daring delight
against all the odds,
declaring summer open.
Happiness will return.
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