Waning February
or any cruel season
The tail end of the winter
the last of the month
promise of spring
still unrealized
a plea
entreaty
whispered, please come
each morning a new bird song
a new voice added
buds swell
a hint of something else in the air
a stirring
a limbering stretch
“when?” I ask the earth
“soon,” whispered back
sunrise, a call
sunset a sigh
closer each day
hope, a button on the horizon
look too hard and it disappears
but surely, surely
it approaches now
