The leaves sway in the song of the wind.

Mild and damp, the breath of the cool morning.

The Day is passing to Spring.


The blades of grass coil under a blanket of fog,

just as the sun melts away the last spot of frigid air.

The birds’ lyric give warning,

their little eyes stare.

The Day is passing to Spring.


Beneath the tepid blue eyes of a watching sky,

The young pedals of Spring awake.

The trees wave bye to the frozen lakes.

They look to the winter, and address the cold—

“The road ends here.”


…where Day has left her blanket.

New Voices is a student published creative writing journal that prints annually at Xavier.

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