Painting © Trevor Mitchell at GreatBigCanvas.com

Time to Repair

When the smell of spring is in the air,

it's time to clean and what repair,

damage done by many winters' leave,

from base of the foundation to the eave.

A time to breathe easy, a time to mend.

A time to take stock, all the way to the end.

For to leave things in shambles is not right,

when we go into that deep dark night.

Put things in order and clear the cobwebs,

for all around, new life comes forth, ebbs.

Seasonal, not like the more often tides,

but also important for what there, abides.

So one can relax, turn face to burning sun,

bask in the summer heat one more time,

before this life, this life of plenty, is done.

Copyright 2024 © Ronald W. Hull

3/28/24

You can read and print this poem at my website here.