Mushrooms

After three

days of rain
white-capped
mushrooms
litter the grass
like umbrellas
abandoned
when the sun
came out.

© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved

Dear Mr. Wordsworth

Dear Mr. Wordsworth, here I lie

On my couch in a pensive hour,

Listening to chill winds cry,

While shivering branches scour

The window glass, but thanks to you

I am not limited to this view.


Through your words and by my will

I am transported to another day, far away,

Where daffodils gather along a hill,

Put to shame the waves in a bay,

Challenge the stars with their multiplicity,

And give my life a joyous duplicity.


But even as my cheeks grow warm

By the glow of ten thousand faces,

The sky changes, clouds form,

Rain pours down, ruining your graces.

For it is not your daffodils I crave,

But your company, as I watch them wave. 



© 2011 Elizabeth Ehrenfest Steinglass, all rights reserved