When winterís sky dawns bleak and grey,
My thoughts turn to flower scents born on the wind of a spring day.
I think of sun, birds on their return flights,
And all the wonder of springís delight.
Never mind the cold, wind and sleet.
My mind is elsewhere in a warm retreat.
Swaying trees in a soft, spring breeze,
My mind manufactures as if to tease.
The weather calls for dropping temps and bitter chill,
But I think of fishing on the green bank of the old mill.
Baby Robins, pussy willows and opening buds whirl through my head,
As I snuggle down in my warm downy bed.
Soon the calendar pages will reveal the time is near,
And the return of spring that I hold so dear.
Yes, it will return when the time is right.
Until then, Iíll dream with all my might.