It’s the biting east wind after an early morning squall,
Rosy on our cheeks as we scurry to the outhouse,
It’s the hardy early bloomer, glimmering in the hedgerow sun,
Rain storms gather on the horizon, towering tall cumulonimbus,
The early riser’s viewing of nature’s frozen path,
It’s the hustle and bustle of a crow as it pricks and pokes its nest,
The blossom of a cherry, a scratching post for winter past,
The farmer takes a digging sprong urging a timely thaw,
It’s a time to spring forward to stretch the day,
A time for knee pads, compost and trowel,
Avoid the summer bulbs not too long till May,
The sap begins to budge, from lawn to tree top where sits a peering owl.
The mice search for cover as the log pile falls down from the wall,
It’s the in-between coat days where a wool ones too warn, and a half one not enough,
Winter storms a distance memory, as costal life takes a collective sigh,
The northern half begins to warm as she tilts gently towards the sun.