We hear the skirl of the winds announce
your stalwart trek through snow-piled drifts.
We love your irrepressible bounce,
accept your volatile mood that shifts
from sullen sighs to a roguish grin.
With feisty defiance, you take a swing
at frosty winter’s arrogant chin,
then open the equinox door for spring.
In subtle degrees, your hands will peel
the layers of crusted ice between
still-huddled roots; you start to heal
the blistered soil with soft-hued green.
The song of awakening leaps and spills
beneath your firm and piercing glance;
you sweep through the prairies and fir-clad hills,
preparing the stage for April’s dance.