Groundhog, encore

Hogging Ground

How mean is Winter, what a miser with his light,
received so desperately, as when a desert gets rare rain.
So furry figures of folklore are forever held in doubt.
A glimpse, through a seasonally neglected pane:
pink and purple streaks alleged that Spring might come again,
and with it marched in strangers, creatures seldom seen:
possibilities of hope for other things, things of green,
blue skies, brightness, perhaps a hint of love–- the sun was out!
The next day’s dank clouds and winds waged another bout
which fought to freeze – - or melt – - the optimism of one
who’d seen and been fooled by the February sun.

Loved it Aunty, especially the poetic footwork.

Good to see you hear you read you and glad neither of the C's got you.

Enjoyed very much... albeit a year in arrears I seem to be.

Praying all is well.

Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor