It is three-thirty-three in the morning
I note the time because I can’t sleep
and because it is raining.
Yesterday it snowed
March … Equinox … almost Easter
and still it snows
one-and-a-half nearly two inches
of sloppy, wet, and sticky snow.
So I forage through the odds and ends
cluttering the counter.
Everyone is slumbering,
and I finally find a scrap of paper:
last day of winter—
sparrows and cawing of crows;
I hear them from the kitchen
I don’t hear a robin, though
there will be no spring!
© 1990, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.