By Patricia Farrington

Fading sun beyond the trees,
I sit reflecting on past months.

Disjointed sounds penetrate this,
otherwise, silent room

The world I see is in Spring,
cool newborn greens, clouds drifted in blue.

Here and there, flowers,
splashing colors, stretching into light through dark soil.

Forsythia leap skyward, and drape
earthward in molten, living sun made substance.

Love has been born of caring,
by gentle words, a soft touch, a listening heart.

Trees and flowers sun ward leap,
while human hearts, lift to love made manifest

About this Author:
Patricia A Farrington is a local reporter for the Southwest Mirror Tribune. She has also had her short stories published in the magazine "Nova Trek."