February, belated winter,
Season in its own right. Witness
To grey days widening. It listens
To the blackbird trying to kindle
Frozen minds with song, sweet but faltering
That fails to crack the ice of silence.
In modesty, it dares not
To disturb late winters demise.
March, bold controller of the sky,
Permeates spreading mists. It enlightens
Sturdy elms in limpid fields.
Starved land sucks up the latent heat,
And emerald energy engulfs the meadow
As nature fires a forgotten fuse.
The earth breathes. It is alive again.
In innocence, with silvery voice,
The blackbird sings with scintillating fluency.
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