All my life, I've asked for spring:
The promise of its return.
Here in the dead of the coldest winter,
I'll pull the blinds halfway shut,
Blotting out the tops of the barren trees.
If I pretend to see spring
In heather snowbanks,
Or among primroses in the rain,
Maybe I'll wish it into existence
And December will succumb to May.
But no amount of dreaming
Returns the sunny weather.
So perhaps I should ask
For something within reach.
If May is eternally a month away,
Then let me ask for tomorrow.
And spring may not return
Today nor the next
But the sun will rise
And with it hope
That the flowers aren't so distant
For even the coldest winter day
Brings a sunrise through the ice
So if spring is too far lost,
At least I hope for morning.
And no matter how cold the night,
Dawn will come again.
Author's note: Winter sucks. Seeing the silver lining is important. I plan to finalize this poem next winter.
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Trillium Beneath the Pines: An Original Poetry Compilation
PoetryA compilation of my poems, many of which explore the cyclical nature of the world: life and death, day and night, and the seasons.
