The winter has been gone,
gone for months, overdue.
Snow resides in the sky,
in the clouds that gather above,
but teases us, mocking our inability to have him.
Instead, our packages are full of warmth,
sunshine that beams down on days such as these.
Comfortable, for myself,
but worried for the earth.
She needs gifts from the sky,
whether we enjoy them or not is irrelevant.
Leaves remain blowing through the air,
yet to decompose and return to the soil.
And the heat is like a spring’s day,
flowers budding despite the month.
The crunch I hear from my boots
is not from snow, but more leaves, dried and lost.
In like a lion, out like a lamb,
but neither lamb nor lion has showed face here.