Did the self-encasing ice
Ever melt enough
To reach beyond,
So you
Stretch your tired fingers
In the cool spring air,
And flicker your eyes open
To the mid-morning mist,

Breathed in just shallow enough
To soothe that rain-like pit-pattering heart
And coo the aches of chilly soul,
Hushing the wisps of winter wither
Beyond the mind and somewhere thither.