I breathe the air
with frost
upon its edge
and smell
the pledge of
warming earth
instead.
And here,
behind the whisper
of the wind,
a melody begins
to sing of
spring.
I am the smile
that bursts
about my
face,
with eyes that brighten
to the early trace
of crocus-sprout
and robins
on the
wing,
and wave farewell
to winter's
bickering.
Pamela A. Lamppa
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