Oh Spring, once here, have you forsaken us?
Shunning our corner of this northern world,
This morning, covered in a white canvas,
Serenely, our houses in snow, lie furled.
A robin, bright, calls from the covered tree,
Paradoxical and out of place here,
We hear, too, the trill of the chickadee,
Signs that once foretold of your being near.
The sun, now out, shines on the cold morning,
And warms; The land now sheds its winter coat,
The last trace of Winter, out with warning,
It turns to slush; Now Spring, do take a note,
Hope returns to this winter wonderland,
We ask of thee Spring, are you now at hand?
- Laura Freeman -
April 13, 2013
Our house this morning! Yesterday the yard was bare, albeit brown and soggy.