Spring’s feathered herald
pecks furtively at the frozen’d ground
urging worms far nestled below
who refuse to venture out
and greet the bitter rain.
His red-dulled breast
with water disguised as ice.
She found last night
among the howling winds
that her chickling
had become an egg once more
curled into a downy, frail ball
yet no more warm
now more silent than ever.
Two quivering robins
huddle over their branch-bare nest
their warbles lost in the pelting hail
not a peep escapes from their hatchlings.
The Sun sheepishly warms all it can
Before a fresh strong breeze
Whisks away your hotly held breath.
A startling shiver sneakily slithers in.
Spring has come.
Yet the chill remains unswayed
And the rain still stubbornly dips
Its fingers in ice.
sometimes the wind is nothing but bitter and icy
its dalliances with leaves
go noticed without care
the cold relishing its damper
as i fret away the chills
my want of simple warmth
do no justice to the beauties of nature
there but unwanted
it dulls unheeded
as i hurry tiredly towards home…