Spring’s Rhyme

Colour floods so slowly,
Each petal takes its time–
It blossoms near to holy
As it enacts Spring’s Rhyme.

The petals blush in summer
And wither in the fall
And wave to each newcomer
Of their Garden Hall.

One seems to blossom slower
Than the rest as they spring up,
But soon will grace the bower
Within its leafy cup.

For biggest nor most flashy
Most often steals our hearts,
But smaller, sweeter, graceful
Play contemplative parts.

Is spring but just a showtime
Of biggest or the best?
No, tis a new beginning–
A renaissance of rest.

For every heart that fails
In the winter of the soul
May blossom sure and graceful
With the new hope of spring’s role.



Beading bracelets in the sand,
Jewelry in a coastal span,
In patterns we cannot discern;
The waves then scatter, for our turn.

Wanting much to see the world
Little knowing, in you curled
Lies chasms deep and not explored
A world inside the one God poured.

Shards come washing up upon
The shore—a coastal Parthenon.
In vict’ry rise you from the foam
And in sand castles, make your home.

Nestled, sandy, with shore views,
As crabs curl up to read the news,
And clams complain as if a muse
Were there to give them that excuse.

Sweet babbling of a time long past;
You had Atlantis in your grasp.
I hear soft echoes wash and fade
As to the world shell-songs are played.

Some day in winter out you’ll come,
I’ll listen for the waves of some
Past empire; When I am quite chilled,
With shells’ soft murmur I’ll be filled.



The earth contains a song for every thing
And joy to its containing mortals brings.
The zephyr warbles trippingly and free
And whispers gentle lyric songs to me.

It sings a theme divinely thought upon
With help from muses who inspire song.
It whispers, sighs, and smiles in my ear,
Murm’ring woeful strains or laughing cheer.

The rustling slow-paced language of the trees
Tell ancient tales to saplings at their knees.
The birds that croon or flit about with joy
Or fly o’er seas to call a far “Ahoy!”

Or fauna’s lyric cadence uttered low
Or naiads gentle breathing streaming slow—
All earth sings lyric ballads unto me,
Murm’ring soft, “Euterpe, Euterpe.”


Winter’s End

One hundred tiny branching fingers rise
All spread about toward morn’s slow entrance nigh
As twigs and branches reach toward glistening sky
Whilst dawning mist falls gently—spring’s surmise
One Thousand buds so softly whisper wise
Of entrance down green, glossy stairs she’ll fly
Great trees contralto hum, while wind sings high
And faeries pop from nooks—Sweet Spring’s surprise

‘Tis spring! When dryads dance again in trees
When Dark retreats to vernal boudoirs deep
Grey gowns thrown off and black hues put to sleep
And wriggling, come the sprites from Solstice lees
Light plays upon the world as winter flees
And em’rald arias are spring’s to keep.


Amy McCombs is a sophomore Criminal Justice major and a resident of South Carolina.

These poems are among the entries for the Society of Classical Poets’ 2012 Poetry Competition.

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The Society of Classical Poets does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or commentary.

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