Winter 

Still this winter lingers, 

Refusing to move her fingers;

The lady of gloom and tomb.

Her crown melts onto parted lips; 

Surrendering to rosehips.

Her sleeves of lace still graces;

The paths of trees as she traces. 

Still the moss awakens; 

Refusing to be forever forsaken. 

Spring arrives on prayer air

She comes to dare, she comes so fair.

The lady of plume and womb.

Her crown the gold holds,

As the crocus unfolds.

Still trees prefer the contour cruels, 

Not of jewels but of spools;

With threads the winter, bough adorns; 

 Embroidery of ice on hawthorns.

Trees prefer the sleep of yules, 

The ice on winter pools. 

Preferring silhouetted dignity; 

Suiting gentle benignity. 

Yet coats of snow appease not the soil; 

She prefers the warmth of sowing toil. 

The spring arrives to bejewel.

Jeweler of Jewelers 

Of life the ruler. 

The crocus and the jonquil rise, 

Lifting their eyes to sighs. 

Still this winter lingers. 

 Her crown fallen at her feet,

Permits the growth wheat.

The rivulets and creeks; 

The thaw of weeks. 

And so the green thickens,

Over ravines and peaks written. 

 Spring with the emerald gown.

Wears the gold crown.