February

The fields are bedded down with snow, Like blankets tucked about their ears, As if the world had gone to sleep; But now and then a bush appears, Wearing a crown of purest gems With scarlet berries on white stems.

The windbreak running to the lake Has snowy trunks like silver birch. Even the weeds have hoods of snow, Like quaint old women in a church. The hens have frosted beards and look Like old men in a picture book.

Along the highway muffled wheels Go by without a breath of sound. The fence posts stand like sentinels, Wearing tall helmets diamond crowned. The mailman inhis battered truck Has drifted snow and ice to buck.

And yet I know that spring is nigh Although the wind is cold and raw; The sky is softer than it was; The fields have started in to thaw, Putting aside their winter dress To don their springtime loveliness.

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