After days of sun and hope of spring
When snow blows cold and new,
Crusting to the cedar branches,

Sticking fast to maple trunks
Standing silent in a line
Hardened in the frigid air

Trees reach forlornly
Naked and starkly drawn
With charcoal strokes

Cold so long they crack
And shiver in the wind
Beneath peeling bark they wait

The stillness and the motion
Draw a contrast to the eye that watches
Sun setting without melting the snow

No smell of earth drifts to us now
No promised soft warm breeze
Patience is pulled reluctantly from the brain

Tomorrow comes, and again tomorrow
When each day is a step closer
To growth, to new beginnings

By Diane E. Dockum
© April 6, 2016