The snow continues to fall,
The marsh still sheathed in ice,
But they were there, from the South,
And would be nesting--

And along the frozen river,
Leafless, frosted,
Mostly concealed by drifts,
The dogwoods now are crimson--

And in the open land,
Bordered by a now concealed creek,
The old grey willows
Are tipped with vibrant gold--

And though icicles rim the eves,
I've heard a stirring--
Starlings, no doubt,
Come back home to brood--

And silent, unmoving,
Statue-like against the winter sky,
The increased presence of raptors
Signals eminent change--

But mostly it's the light:
More, earlier, later,
Unhindered, more intensity
That makes it certain--

For though even the angels
No not the day nor the hour,
The signs are sure--
He will come again.

03/01/2023

Author's Note: It's been a long Winter.

Posted on 03/01/2023
Copyright © 2024 Leonard M Hawkes