I stoop to feel the hardened earth beneath my fingertips,
Scoffing at the words I’ve heard professed by sordid lips—
That this dreary cloak of winter days wrapped around my soul
Can be a hibernating balm to my spirit’s gaping hole.
What feels to me antipathy toward the atmospheric pressure
Could become rapt eagerness of spring’s forthcoming weather.
So while the frigid burden weighs enormous on my psyche
I’ll grasp anticipation of warmth erasing melancholy.