You come
with the budding
of the crocuses, sprung
from Athenian depths,
winter-darkened hair hanging
limp to your shoulders.

Girl with cherryOne night's rest and suddenly
a blonde bush blooms
around your funny face.
"Big hair," you say
and, laughing,
the cherries emerge.

Then, the first Sunday after
the first full moon after
the vernal equinox,
the familiar bunny,
mistaking you for a child,
leaves a basket,
and your chocolate giggle
sweetens our waning hours

until you leave on the warm wind,
flying west with the sun.
And the crocuses close.
Yet the daffodils remain,
And soon, the roses.

First published in Of a Like Mind (OALM), publication of the Re-formed Congregation of the Goddess.