The Breath 

By: Lorin Day


A quiet Lady wakes from seasonal slumber

The fire of hibernation has burnt low, and now, 

The light of a new year are peeking through Her paned window

The time has come for Her to rouse the world’s breath

To beat back the cold white, unfurl the leaf of Spring 


Snow melts like fat dripping off a spit, 

Runnels cutting through the last of frost 

Small green feet push through the slush

Her silken dress sweeps along behind her

Wicks of delicate color, sage and lime, lavender and rose


Her figure cuts through the snow, the prow of a mighty ship

Green buds sprout around her like frothing sea foam

Trailing songbirds and squirrels, not dolphins and whales

Herself, the prestigious figurehead of this grand fleet


Around Her head, a crown of sunbeams

Not a winter candle, guttering in the night

But a spring torch, a sentinel of the dawn

From the torch rolls not smoke, but steam

Pouring forth in a roiling wave

Winter’s wake off to become Spring’s rain


In Her stead is a sunrise, a blanket of green

A carpet, a new skin, a bandage 

For the scarring Winter has brought 

And shall deliver no more

She walks; torch fighting back the night, figurehead of a new season

She has come! 


Art Piece by Nanesko Watson