Deep in February’s chill
it feels like May might never bloom,
but even in the darkest room,
light lingers longer every day,
and bitter winter cannot stay
forever, tempt it as you will.
Soon spiders, with their silver strands,
will spin new homes with certain flair,
And house-finch songs will float on air
Above the lilting mockingbird,
And spring, more now than a mere word,
Will enchant the lifeless land.
Meanwhile, resist the icy slope—
Don’t let despair obscure bright hope.
(c) 2018, by Hannah Six