tip of my tongue

words on the tip of my tongue
haven’t begun
to formulate their sounds and meanings
grasping
roots
of trees, of wisdom

leaves that change with seasons, and
grass is green.

when snow hits,
grass is white.
when snow melts,
grass is brown.

my body swings and sways
changing with each season
words on the tip of my tongue

i want them to roll off
like bubbles flow down a stream
rapid and in full swing
one direction, an end and beginning
so then
can i call you
my rock;
can i call you
my spring?