883
Oh Ho!
March laughs
again
and grasps
one winter’s last left straw
to throw its chilly winds abroad
and freeze our soul’s deep sod
The tender shoots of spring begun
are stilled upon their vines
The frozen trees stand watch over these
wizened by their time
They had not yet entwined their hopeful foliage here
but wait, solemn sentinels,
for April’s all clear
Written March of 2012 during a “Spring Frost”