Morning’s cold, gray curtain tossed
Upon the landscape, bitter frost
Reminds that winter’s not quite lost.
Gray to lavender, the clouds
Part, and warm the icy shrouds
That hang on barren fields, unplowed.
Still, and void of any sound,
Lifeless grasses bend to ground,
Hunched, arthritic, gnarled and brown.
They wait, like me, for April’s rain,
To bring the world to life again,
To lift the weight of winter’s pain.
Don’t be fooled by March’s sun,
She’s fickle, tricking everyone
To thinking spring has finally come.
But you, like me, have come to know
That March brings rain–but also snow.
I cannot wait for her to go.
© Nancy J. Bond