in acknowledgement of you
(no matter how much we’d rather you be June)
Cold; bitter reward of sun crusted days,
And Frost; Cold’s insidious accomplice
And scattered Leaves; dead remnants of Summers’ Glory.
Ground; barren, unpromising clods, Verdure betrayer
And Sky; ominous grey mass blustering mountain cliffs
Hello Heart; waning, yearning, light starved
But Welcome Hope! for green bud to be.