spring

It is springtime and there
Is blossom in the boughs,
And in your hair.

You say something but
The wind steals your sentiment,
Winging it to the azure.

I would lift my hand to catch it
But it would simply slip
Through graceless digits;

Instead, I turn to you and watch
The sunlight stroke your
Features. A smile blooms.

I cannot catch your words
But, tangled in the scent of Daphne
I have captured your heart.