March drags the days along
a slow progression
winter's echo near
spring's minuet playing out its contradictions
counting, marking time
a cool reception to ensuing warmth
Counting the minutes, counting the days
wisping the seconds away
lasting for the moment, shadows of doubt
fleeting so fleeting
winter's last pout
(Copyright Steven S. Walsky 2004)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem