winter curls it's icy hand
around my upper arm
and won't let go;
sleet slices through the cold air
blowing, drifting snow, ice
as I wait here;
across the bridge, sunshine waits
beckoning me with warmth
blue skies, flowers;
I want to cross over there
itching to feel new grass
on my bare feet;
arms outstretched under the sun
birdsong sweet to my ears
buzz of insects;
but for now . . .
winter curls it's icy hand
around my upper arm
and won't let go;
© Lydia Lowe 03/01/14
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