(Poem by Wendy Howe )

A mild dawn arrives,
yet behind some trees,
the moon lingers
in maidenly form.

Damp fingertips
twist her luminous hair
into a bun;
and as the sky pales, she sees
swans budding wild
on the horizon.

The lake awaits their return
and feels the last day
of Winter break
like a woman's mirror
into sparks of fine glass.
© 2011, Wendy Howe. E-mail.

To know more  about this poem,   about Wendy Howe

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