Spring

Winter’s shadow begs for more, Creeping towards the tide of penumbral shores. Whispering in the frost of its breath, It sighs recognized in the face of its death. As each heave pushes lessening air from its lungs, Whose emptying catacombs flicker its feline tongue, The promise of springtime spoils its spew, With warmth from the willows and morning dew. Once more shall night be defeated by dawn, As the fuel of the frost fails to fight, The day which devours the dark till it’s gone, With an open mouth feed by the spoon of sunlight.