She tightens stormy fingers
Across the fragile cusp
Where sudden sunshine lingers
In spite of her deep thrust
There seems to be a softening
Within the golden ray
A lilting song of beckoning
Beyond her lips of gray
Her pale white brow is bluer now
A hint of glimmering mirth
Splashes on the weary snow
That decks the restless earth
And in her sullen brooding
Her will intensifies
She howls in tunes foreboding
Tears storm-clouds from her eyes
She will not be defeated
Her cold and chilling dread
Is violently repeated
Her fury is not dead
And yet, whilst she unleashes
Her fury in the air
The southern hills and sashes
Melt beneath her stare
She will not reign forever
The bud upon the limb
Is pressing to the surface
She feels the might of them
The brook, once still and colder
Cannot contain its song
….she humps her stubborn shoulder
She knows it won’t be long…….
…..the day of her departure
Is waiting in the breeze
The scent of passions fervor
Spawns possibilities
Her iridescent haunting
Is waning as she moans
She hears her rival taunting
In quickened undertones
Janet~
There is something about this time of year I love…….
Still quite subtle now, but we see her in the lengthening of days,
In the slight softening of the sun’s rays……
Winter’s rival is moving in
The duel is about to begin
