Elaine Harris

elaine harris
Life is a Terminal Illness

I can hear the chink of snow falling
It drops carefully, so tinkling,
a whisper heard more
in intuition’s cochlea than the ear.

I can hear birds singing; in a safe place
beyond the snow, if I listen with care.
Their music threads
between icicles and bursting blossom buds.

I hear the pop of opening cherry flowers,
throwing scent at me, to a fanfare
of sunset vermilion,
echoed by dawn in shades of crimson.

Nesting on cherry boughs: perch white doves,
confettied in pink petals.
I hear their voices soft as snow
promising tomorrow and tomorrow.

One response to “Elaine Harris

  1. Augustine C. Ohanwe

    In Elaine Harris’ poem, life is mirrored in nature in a delightful way. Her poem soothes jitters. Good to read in tense enervating times

Leave a Reply