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Quiet
We thought that spring had finally come.
The sunshine was a tease.
We sat in warmth and birdsong,
Through heated sultry breeze.
Then just when coats, forgotten
Were thrown aside for play,
Here comes the March wind howlin',
Goodbye to "Ides of May".
The moon this morn is hanging
Above a bare-limbed dark.
The yard with browned blooms waning
Looks cold, and hard and stark.
But one thing cherished of winter
Still lingers in this dawn.
The quiet sticks out like a splinter.
I smile, then stretch and yawn.
