Beneath these booted feet
you are recarpeting bare brown earth
when little else has dared stir
in frost cold mud but timid grass.
Your golden flowers hug the ground in full rebirth
waiting to stretch tall greening stems
to gild with lace May's mantle.
Today I crush with every step
your tiny, crowding whorls.
I turn my collar up to fend my ears
against a sudden rush of bitter wind.
But in my winter weary soul
your courage stirs
a new found note. My heart
responds, begins to sing
a lilting happy song of joy
and I can hear no more
the final chords of Winter's
dark and long crescendo.

        Irene Dodge

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