The warmth of spring denied by winter’s fist
holds piles of snow that smother tulip beds
and silky blooms whose petals can’t exist
in colors bright with maize and claret red.


I loath the cold with claw and icy tooth
that keeps the sun in shadow’s stain complete
and robs the earth of green… a clever sleuth,
when chilly powder ghosts hold time’s deceit.


I know not how to teach the sun to mind
and keep the bulbs in soil upon demand
or melt the ice and snow where ivy vined.
I seek the warming winds that grace the land.


The trill of sparrow’s dawn has plans for morn
to push the shades of night away with light
that bring the magic buds when life is born
and lilac’s breath before the coals of night.


I heard the winter speak a nasty tone
and growl that he alone decides when spring
arrives and ferns lay fronds of lace on stone
or when the robins flutter soft of wing.


If winds no longer howl and sun awakes
to shine its honeyed light that heals our hearts,
I’ll softly sigh then dry my tears and take
in spring’s array while winter’s ice departs.


© By Marilyn (mterwilleger@bresnan.net)











         

 

 






The Final Trip

Last Snow

Peace, Hope, Happiness

The Front Porch



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