January Sunshine

Hopes fly high 'neath this azure sky, Tendrils of smoke rise from the hearths, In the throes of ecstasy as they kiss the obscure Puffs of white in the infinite horizon. The wind is chill, but irony plays a cruel hand Its skillfull sleight grips us in its freezing maw And the golden trickster of noontime Promises warmth but breaks its oath, Mocking us as if to say Springtime is near, springtime is near.. While predatory Winter grins in its dark cave Its white fangs bared to taste first blood.