...this noon hour in Tappan, New York...
running waters from the melting mounds of snow
ice cycles surrendering to the sun's gentle warmth
the scamper of squirrels upon ground and towering Oak
sun's light behind the drifting clouds on high
song and flight of birds upon branches yet bare
the sigh of winter the beckoning of spring
light and change, this each passing day to bring.
Rose Marie Raccioppi