It is January, I know,
but there is warmth in me for now
as if Spring had shaken off low clouds
and washed away these ragged heaps of snow.

It will pass,
this early bloom of light,
and we shall turn to trudging, once again,
the icy paths we walk from car to house.

Like that fugitive queen,
you leave Winter in your wake.
Wield that weather gently, love:
You bring a Spring to us who urge you on.