Spring Is Late Poem by Stephen Wylie

This spring-time snow
Has a curious glow.
It's unusually bright
For a landscape so white,
Under skies overcast
That threaten more snow.
In spite of this light,
The wind has a bite,
A chill icy blast
'Cross a park that is vast.

I come in from the cold,
Not feeling too bold.
My mind's still outside,
In a space pale and wide.
I find it hard to adjust,
Even though I just must.
The others are jolly;
I can't catch this mood,
My presence seems folly.