It was here on Tuesday
we sat and soaked up the sun
feeling the warmth of the rays
and wished for days
like this.
Today
was grey.
Colder than the seven degrees,
and I cannot blame the breeze
for the trees
in their stillness
betrayed it's absence,
verified by the dampness that never dried from the ground,
lingering
and malingering
like a guest overstaying it's welcome.
And tomorrow,
what will that day bring,
as the mercury slumps in a downward direction.
Summonsing mystical
crystals
in our direction.
So sing, blue tit, sing
and maybe Spring
will hear you,
and return,
and wrestle us from the
ravenous jaws of winter,
whose bite has been too bitter,
and whose presence we would gladly banish.
