Popcorn

Spring is

taking your new wicker basket,

ambling through a thicket of trees

and reaching a grove of orchards

illuminated by patches of sunlight.

Spring is

shedding off your winter’s coat

Her cream white color has started to fade,

Even for gold, she is something I wouldn’t trade.

Stitches burned away by the fire known as love, 

The pages

of the old storybook

(you know the one, with its gilded cover depicting

the never-changing silvery palace

set against the sunset