Approaching Summer

It's not a year for barbecues
rain rusted grill
no one wants to clean.
We'll make our usual instead.

The setting sun stripes
our balcony rails.
Pine needles sleep soundly.

I reminisce of horseshoes,
sand-filled toes,
the play we've set to rest.

It's not the sun-filled days
I long for, sitting here with you;
it's the peaceful thought of knowing
you'll reach another spring.

by E. M. Soos