Spring comes insideTo the windowsillIn installmentsPinks and purples,Whites and yellowsReds and orangesBright blooms.Eager children come Bringing theseClasped in sweet fistsBehind their backs.

A caterpillar in a jar,A mystery.Such an odd soundThe pink, ponk, punk Holes being poked in the metal lid.Leaves will do for food;A stick to climb.Her mind wondersWill this worm Build a cocoon? When? How? Why?

Pecan pie just likeGrandma used to bakeFlaky crust, custard just likeMama always madeToasted pecans, syrupy sweetJust like—home.