It is Sunday, early – the day dawns
Wreathes of mist waft over lawns
The neighbourhood has not yet stirred
Though the big tree hosts a lonely bird …
Winter's grip is tight and strong
The opaque Heavens have no song
Life's on hold and Nature sleeps
The dampness clings, the coldness weeps...
The glistening cobbles touch my feet
Snow was promised, we got sleet
It's depressing – our morale is low
When will the joyful crocus show?
The wind picks up, the branches sway
High out of reach, small nests are grey
They're up for grabs; no tenants yet;
A clutch of eggs and we're all set!
All seems suspended animation;
Yet I feel a sense of mild elation,
Each day the light, though wan, increases
And the springtime puzzle has more pieces!
(c) Poet in the woods 2016