It's time to get my windows done.
I'll leave my gloves zipped in my bag
And stride out - slightly lighter clad.
Are we on the verge of spring?
The odd bird passes on the wing
I dare say frogs will not set forth
Just yet - it's far too North.
The florist in the village street
Displays bright pansies at my feet.
But dogs still sport their winter coats
And scarves flap round their owners' throats.
There's a subtle, gentle change of mood.
This winter has been harsh and rude
The passengers upon my tram
Still look dull-eyed, as Belgians can.
Where are Wordworth's daffodils?
All I see are empty sills.
The light gets longer every day
But Easter's still a month away.
St. Patrick, on whose day I write,
May well have kept snakes out of sight
An Irish miracle, we're told.
And yet, like us, they hate the cold!
(Written in 2006)
(c) Poet in the woods 2014
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