Winter: Dusk

Dampness in
the air

hints that
spring

lurks
somewhere

under all
this snow.

But the
cottontail

is still and
watchful;

he ekes out
meager meals

of fallen
seed

beneath my
bird feeder.

I will watch
for him

to not
return,

like the
dove spurning the ark

when it
found dry ground at last,

only then
will spring

spring
unfurl.













My earlier poems are still available at Poetic Splatter .