With a mop, a pail, a broom
my mother was armed for Spring.
The sight of buds,
a delicate breeze
and the march began
from room to room.
Ants very quickly lost hope.
Moths trembled and sank.
Flies dared not enter.
The borders so clearly were marked
with lye, steel wool
and yellow soap.
New ladybugs,
the turning grass,
the ecstatic way
a bird would sing –
and down came the drapes,
Out went the rugs.
My mother was greatly moved
By Spring
Daffodils and Yellow Soap by Florence Liberfarb
Copyright © 2005-2008 All Rights reserved
Florence Liberfarb writes poetry, short stories and plays. You may freely republish this poem for non-commercial use provided you follow the Publisher Guidelines and provide a hyperlink (electronic media) to the Wordly Web Site. You may not alter the copyright notice or edit the content of this poem. Please notify the author of your intent to republish. Commercial use of this poem requires written permission and payment of a royalty.
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Poems, Stories, and Plays byFlorence Liberfarb
