Spring in Late Winter

And here I am,
breathing in a promise
of another spring,

with warm rain
gently pressing itself
against my window pane,

as curious tendrils of
brown ivy stretch and lean
to listen in,

discovering if some small thing
has decided to live, thrive,
and again turn green...

Now the flame has died
in the hearth, and Winter
readies his retreat

with a tulip in his lapel,
and coattails wildly waving
to the frost at his feet...

Behind him stands Spring
with an oriole on her shoulder
and lilacs on her breath,

her lips smiling red with roses,
and her eyes, they are filled with
sweet, damp violets...