Incessant, nervous breeze,
Gray mornings scudding in,
Branches, stark and thin,
Rain and flurried snow
Blended now, as if they didn't know
Which way the sky must go,
Warming now, but slow.
Bleak skies and weathered land
Beaten colorless by Winter's hand
Seem silent in these days of gray,
But I know fair Spring will have her say.
A neighbor rang, reporting her first robin;
Two trumpeters flew north without stopping,
And geese stand waiting on the icy pond,
Rememb'ring open water just beyond.
This is the time when old ones sigh,
Wondering will winter ever die?
And some decide that it is best
To turn toward eternal rest.
So left my friend this early spring
Before he heard the robins sing,
And I remain to live the winter out alone,
Awaiting green and coveting bird song.