beneath the crust of ice and snow
dormant earth groans, and well we know
that
though fair season would appear,
the
old man’s mood remains austere.
but,
should harsh winds from the north
relent, and tulips break forth
through the frost as it subsides,
and
daffodils bloom betides,
the
white retreat before the green
revealing soft, pastoral scene,
hours
we’ll count and days we’ll number
until
world wakes full from slumber.
yet,
the brittle hoar and rime
hang
o’er all, until such time
as
equinox its advent
makes—then will cold foe relent,
thus
might we have cause to confirm
winter, at last, has come full-term;
well
might we join, and celebrate,
nature’s renaissance consecrate.
—D. W. McMillen
22 February 2008
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