The great thaw is coming.

Slush piles and drips

Listen for the drumming

Of light brushes and sticks.

*

Winter’s last gasp is suspect,

Frosted breath hovering.

Cool air scarves my neck

I look for a covering.

*

What a mess it will be,

The frosting on the ground,

Sinking, melting even me.

But spring’s comin’ round.

*

It’s out there waiting, underneath,

Renewal, energy, and fervor.

Crocuses to replace the bleak.

I long for their fists of color.

*

I’ll tuck away this scenery

And stretch spring like a yawn,

Winter’s last memory?…

White spots on a fawn.