being born in the spring

being born in the spring makes it easy
to relay my essence, every little thing
you see the sun was shining and
i could not wait to be born

into the magic of magnolias,
robins' reappearing, snows having
mostly melted--still some patches
remaining within the shadows of trees
i'd get to know intimately

you see i was born in the spring
but truly, spring was borne into me
as i always awoke early--hoping to catch
sunshine as it crept and dazzled
and climb the nearest tree

i let the spring continue- in my
fiery acculturation to swathe me
as i  tried to climb & brighten my family
and all who came to visit-- with pirouettes,
& fragments of moonlight sonata

as the fiery child who only meant
to please her audience, with the gift
of fire she wore so well was only being
her inner radiance pouring plenitude:

cream, roses, martian red hot lights
inside the fire was a still brook
stilled by outside winds,
her warrior self would begin

the moment candle light
met with the first stroke of morning
crystal animals would come alive
on her bedroom floor: turtles, doves, and horses
casting rainbows on her golden walls-

her fortress of protection

she would close her eyes and say to herself
this may be truly a dream, but if i think hard enough
all of this could be true--i could awake and fly
through canyons, my fire ball being dancing
clear across the orange sky--and make it home on time