Late Winter Sonnet
When winter cloaks the world in snowflakes white –
The only hint of green from spruce or pine,
The rare sunbeam a curious delight-
Unable to warm the depths of the frost line.
The cardinal beckons from his barren branch,
Puffed up for extra warmth, and blithe in spirit-
His merry call could start an avalanche,
But his bough-hopping is the real culprit.
The Polar Vortex filters in from the frigid West
Another round of ice and howling wind,
Oh, that Nature seeks to put us to the test-
A call to those of us who’re thickly-skinned.
Spring is but mere weeks away – April’s at the door,
Mud, mess, and melt - it’s just a few days more.