Drawn between the silver twill
of winter’s drift and burgeon spring,
resides a moment’s secret caught
in ebbing season, on fleeting wing.
With sorrowed heart the winter skulks
toward northern hidden climes,
yet o’er his shoulder presses watch,
whispers winds in true love’s rhymes
that carry only spring’s return
in blushing sun and daffodil,
yet stands with hat in hand and pure
of love’s emotion honored still…
Coyly, spring in warming blush
entreats old winter’s hand,
pulls him closely to her breast,
till in each other’s arms they stand.
One moment’s pause suspended there,
one moves in chase, one holds retreating,
till storm clouds brew the pink horizon
grey in time’s defeating.
Howl O wind! Storm as may!
Drift the season’s skirt to blow!
Raise a passion’s tempest
torn of love these two do show!
Bend the sweetened tulip sprig!
Whip the willows hair!
Drive a snow that melts in spring’s
impassioned heat and sunlit tare!
Shame our eyes to look away
amidst this passion crowned!
Grant this storm a lover’s blush
on passion’s driven sacred ground!
Free this moment’s loving tug
till chaos softly slowly settles,
and leaves a fleeting hint of snow
amidst the fervent sweet spring pedals.
Bless dear winter’s sweetest love
that returns to honor spring,
honor beauty’s virgin dove
taken as the two do sing
in counterpointed harmony,
in trading space entreating bliss,
and how eternal passion lives
in honoring this annual kiss
beyond the season’s razing time,
yet blessed to meet in rhyming round,
till winter slowly drifts to north
as spring entreats their hallowed ground.