reaches her long icy fingers
across the calendar
into drafty corners of my rooms
and deep inside to my bones.
when will she loose her grip,
allow the ground to thaw
and wakening buds to end
their hibernation
and triumphantly
greet the warming sun?
all creatures share
in their longing for spring
to bring forth her glory once again,
for gentle rains to whisper promises
of new life arriving with each dawn,
for rivers to fill the days with songs of joy,
and trees to sway in response.
all of life pauses, holding its breath,
waiting as winter completes her work
of granting snow covers and
rest for the ending of things;
food for beginnings of things;
patience for each of us
in the between of things.
© 10 april 2019
phyllis boernke