Could go by February, or even March,
The way she carries on her wintry game,
Her laundry's cold and wet, stiff in snowy starch.
She promised us firsts, left us with seconds,
Spent herself, it seems, in company of Winter,
Petulant, credit spent, she left her tenants
Freezing blue 'til nearly May.
Robins shiver, lost in snow and sleet
While budgies safe in kitchen cages
Tilt their heads and shift their feet,
Perhaps to wonder what do robins eat.
Desperately slog we the winds of Spring,
Encouraged little when the robins sing.