Above zero
In the Siberian Express,
The Arctic Vortex
Is slipping up.
I see cement,
A welcome event.
Winter birds
Are chirping
In the early light
Of morn,
And crows
With knowing caws,
Converse from dusk
Til dawn.
The squirrels are leaner now,
Looking for old nuts,
Like me,
When I begin to think
These imitations of Spring
Might blunt winter's sting.