A Charlie Spring
Spring is still kicking its heels,
in winters waiting room,
expectations unravel.
The squirrels are too awake,
there is no sign of sleep,
in their glittering eyes.
Magpies peck at a low cast sky,
hunt, for gaps of sunlight.
Charlie, the old man
who chop's his own firewood
died yesterday,
mice have already moved
into his woodpile.
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