Just as in fall, when days grew crisp, a sign
That winter's cold would come, there now
Are subtle signs of spring. The river's
Thawed, and, with the sun's foot-dragging
Progress to the north, its surface sparkles
Once again. The puddles freeze, but then
They thaw, and, by the driveway, stupidly,
The daffodils have raised their heads.
A final winter storm will leave them brown,
But they'll preserve themselves, and, now,
In winter, as in fall, one senses things
Will change.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2018-03-10 at 00:45

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Ashe The PoetBay support member heart!
This is so true that without a calendar our bodies and minds sense the change of seasons. I like the daffodils coming up all too early, hopeful things they are. Nice feeling reading this.