Thaw

The snow still holds the shadowed ground.
The puddles freeze again each night. The fields
Are yellow, desolate, and trees are skeletons.
There's nothing green within my sight. It's winter,
Then. That must be true, but some small spark
Of warmth's been kindled. She brings spring to me.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 25 times
Written on 2018-02-17 at 15:41

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