It was not winter til the north wind blew.
unfastening leaves and branches too.
Revealing the secrets of spring long passed-
Songbird dwellings now known at last.
The chill of winter does bruise the reed,
yet tenderly scatters its’ tiny seed.
Blackbirds pepper up the sky
for they know winter cold is nigh.
Gardens look like empty rooms
when void of anything that blooms,
and a pasture , like a vacant lot,
without the colt to dance a trot.
The old oak stands with barren bough
fields lie untended by man and plow-
Behold the frozen ponds and lakes-
Oh, what a difference, winter makes!
Happy Winter, love Michele