MARCH MORNING
Sunshine
Threading through the garden,
Touching the first daisies,
Shining on the magpies,
Turning the water
In the old zinc bowl
Into shards
Of brilliant light.
Staying just out of reach
Of the cat’s lazy paw,
Until it pounces.
Catching the sun
In its sharp white claws.
The garden breathes out.
©2022 Gwen Grant
Poems by Gwen Grant 