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Feather's Miscellany: February Frost

John Waddington-Feather anticipates the coming of Spring.

This bitter frost savages my aged bones,
bites deeper by the hour.
It flattens my poor snowdrops, mauls the trees,
which leafless raise their plaintive arms
beseeching the sun to send them warmth.
Only a fall of snow will break this frost,
then leave me housebound;
too treacherous to venture
along the slithery road.

And yet, and yet, optimist Spring
still makes its presence felt:
green tips of daffodils push through
the rock-hard soil; buds swell
on every hedgerow tree and bush;
daylight lengthens, charming out
the birds to sing.

Come March and Eastertide all will be well.

John Waddington-Feather

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