THE WINTER THAT WASN’T
On February first the wind
Leapt up in my face and opened
My jacket, which I did not mind
So balmy and soft was the air.
It felt like the first day of March
Roaring in, dissolving the snow,
Summoning vultures whose harsh
Cries raised my eyes to the sky.
And so they continue, these warm
Days with cold nights which cause
Our maple tree owners alarm
Lest their syrup season founder.
Behind us the two warmest years
On record and now a foreshortened
Winter: it surely appears
Our New England climate has altered.
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