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Late Winter Walk
With two lines from Robert Frost
by Wilda Morris
Between the woods and frozen lake
the crocus has not blinked awake.
No robins sing or footprint snow.
A broken branch begins to rake
a graying mound. A scolding crow
encircles trees with bravado.
The only other sound's the sweep
of branches brushing to and fro
across the barn where cattle sleep
as morning sunlight starts to seep
from eastern sky. But I will fling
aside my fears, hike down the steep
incline despite the doubts that cling,
to search once more for signs of spring.
Oh, teach my wintered heart to sing,
Yes, teach my wintered heart to sing.
2001- 2013, Quill & Parchment
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