Sunshine: watery, timid, and weak.
But gentle and loving as it kisses my cheek.
Landscape: crunchy, brown stubble in the flower beds.
But beneath green nubbins are poking up heads.
Bird serenades: sweet and extraordinarily at their best,
As they lure lovers to their nests.
Mr. and Mrs. Robin: doing a courting dance
A new crop of babies will have a chance.
My vision: are there really tiny buds on the branches I see?
Or only my longing - my fantasy.
For I had come to accept a forever winter
like my old age.
As a permanent condition - no reason to rage.
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