A Sonnet to the breath of Spring

Thy whispering breath breathes o'er the mountain's swell,
and caressing sweep along the green lush lowland's fell,
in full flush of day or in night's dark solitude,
oft with Warnerian power, or with Chopin's quiet étude,
wandering weave its hazy way, a dancing dream
kissing touch the rippling hillocks new sprung stream,
thus cavorts in gaiety the Zephyr's lyrical breeze,
gathers up the fragrant air, each evocative whisper tease
like as a violin that purls with quiet airs played fine
cosset the atmosphere like as embracing arms entwine
breathless travel, on Angelic soft spread silken wing,
bequeath forever, the perfumes of each scented Spring,

Thus in sightless guile weaves a wondrous spell,
Whence no poetic lines can scribe it's hues to tell.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jun 2016
About this poem:
Each Spring we're intoxicated with the new breath of life in its sightless wonder, regardless what part of the Planet we live in, fills us with the joy of life.

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Comments (6)

trurorob
Fine sonnet Phil, described with soft airs
Rob
reguiny2006
Thanks Rob appreciate your comment, Phol.wine
southmiami4321online today!
Beautiful outbreak of spring where you live. The description of your poem reminded me of some other place where I traveled. I was climbing mountains, passing by rivers and elevations. The only thing this particular hike was during the night with full moon so bright that made my sight breathless.Thanks for sharing. SM
godsprincess
I sometimes think God gave us Winter just so we can appreciate Spring and his wonderful creations. However, the Winter lovers probably would say the same thing! Beautiful tribute to Spring - my favorite season of the year.

Kathy teddybear
reguiny2006
Hello SM, I am so pleased that you were transported back to halcyon days that were precious to you, made the writing all the more worth while. Phil.wine
reguiny2006
Hello Kathy, Ut was Shelly was it not who wrote, 'If Winter's here, can Spring be far behind', but in truth there are not enough words to write about Mother Natures seasons, and I'll thank your God for them. Phil.wine
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