It is quiet at the water’s edge today.

 

Dawn is lifting back up into the air,

her toes brushing away the orange

strokes she had laid across the lake.

 

There is a patch of grass

in the distance. From where

i lay, its colours look faded.

 

With my head twisted

the way it is, i can just make out

the tips of each blade.

 

With my cheek pressed firm

against this wood, i watch them

as they slowly remove their frosted hoods

 

as above me, the trees begin

to clothe themselves yet again

in blankets of breathing things.

 

And all the flowers now wake,

and bat their eyes to watch

the rays of sun

 

as they tip-toe in perfect

patterns and flash their

perfect smiles.

 

Oh, how lucky they all are

to shake off the cold of Winter.

 

While i remain, a frozen stretch

of body, stuck still to one of Earth’s

broken arms, like paint to walls.

 

While i linger, a frail reminder

of bitter days of old. A jagged piece

of the world, dirtied and thin.

 

But i saw a robin today

at the water’s edge,

and she was beautiful.

 

She looked at me sideways

with a gentle grin, and she told me

“Winter has gone.”

 

Yes, Winter has left, so it seems,

but she forgot me here.