I do not recommend the Bois De Boulogne
before the crocus reveal themselves.
Like small yellow nipples pushed
insistently to the mouths
of uninitiated lambs
bulbs press the season,
seduce in the first taste.
Paths widen, trampled,
when confining walls are shed.
Cold weariness precedes bloom.
I do not recommend
the beaten stroll
where rains are trod
to muddied pools.
Thin light falls
before each step,
feeble flame on gray,
fading day.
Best to leave the cold
to lonely fools.

 

One of our own at the Rose and Thorn, J. L. Sellers is an Oregon writer who loves getting others to write. She co-hosted "Masterpieces in the Making," a weekly, online poetry forum, and in the past three years has edited, encouraged, and advised numerous poets.

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