The winds blow hard across the river
And comb the trees of winter
The water’s curl up o’er their banks
And spray the rocks with foam,
River wet, for the first time this year.
The purple sky shows not a star
And the moon hesitates to be seen
Folly, without a light to anyone out walking
Or to wildlife, where they’ve been.
The angry rains have vanished
Though their tempers in the ground
And for all of nature’s motion
I dare not make a sound.
Tomorrow… the sun, the warmth, the smell
Of spring flowers
Daring to poke their sleepy heads above ground.
My joy will find expression.
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