On
potency and patience
Spring is waiting, bright breath held,
For seasons’ change, time liminal,
As daffodils put forth their golden trumpets,
Fritillaries push curve-necked from the soil,
The first pond-skater skims alone on surface
tension,
In sun-flecks, early insects dance,
They know spring’s coming,
And feel the equinox,
Yet chill east winds,
Bring flurries of near-gelid drops,
Finger-aching nips and bites,
Is this the
winter’s last late frost?
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