THE SNOWS OF SPRINGTIME
Old Man Winter has lost his grip.
This March storm he has thrown at us
Is not an overpowering blizzard.
We watch the white blobs plopping off
The spruce arms. Where the plow has passed
Pavements are black and bare and glistening.
We are not housebound. We can dare
To venture out and do our errands.
The kids will build their snowmen, make
Snow angels, hurl snow missiles.
Sun will turn snowflakes into wine
For crocuses and daffodils to drink.
There goes a crow, casually high-stepping
Pausing to dip his beak into the ice cream.
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