You couldn’t say much for the air,
a raw cold still blowing,
nothing to make you feel welcome
outside the front door;
but the light was kind,
the bright sun of spring,
that golden reach of day
you barely conceived in January.
Along the river packed with floes,
its banks lined with beached chunks.
the gulls were suddenly back,
a noisy horde cheering the ice southward;
and you thought of possibilities,
let your fancy wander a bit,
and so, a farewell to winter
seemed almost within reach.
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