The merry month of May dawns cloudy and rain soaked.
I love the turn of a calendar page the newness
the fresh start the who knows what of it
as time continues on spinning itself out
all shimmery full of promise and hope
another month neatly packed away
a new one shaking out its folds and wrinkles
ready for the party that might be called May.
Or June. Or July. One can always hope.
