No frost now on the window-pane,
No snow on the branch.
What’s left?
Lichen in soft turquoise and bright ochre;
Moss on the roof a dazzling green;
Raindrops in a row on my balcony;
The robin’s winter song.
That glow on the hazel is catkins.
Indoors, too, there is hope:
Slowly unfolds the hyacinth,
And taller, ever taller,
Grows the amaryllis.
J.S.
