Oh those brilliant days,
promised and soon here,
as soon as the polar vortex
has done its thing and gone.
How predictable the unpredictable;
the cold has chastised one and all.
Snow is on the way again, too soon
to hope it is the last one of the season.
January’s icy fingers have grown
gaunt and mean, even the gentlest breeze
is a sharp retort. Just seems there is
a lot of spleen to vent.
Take heart, my friend,
this winter is wicked, it’s true,
but the earth is turning its face toward spring
and the sun is continually new.