Long Is Winter When Counting Days and Months

It's another frigid morning that February brings in howling; I shiver more than the stripped branches when a fierce wind makes me think of avalanches sliding down mountains and ravage villages, and yet I await spring that promises renewed joys. Being melancholic is longing for the water gurgling and bubbling among the shining rocks restoring life all around and sparkling with dim sunshine; will the fair-haired boy send his paper boat down this foaming river? Will his darling wait for it and pull it out of the water with a thrill... making distance shorter for an anxious gill? There in the cottage with small opaque windows above the rock garden of Sweet Alyssum and Amaryllis, the little sweetheart is overcome by profound loneliness; long is winter when counting days and months, and cuddling her kitty with cobalt eyes and soft, white fur Karen sets her glace on the snow flowers that gleam... if her tears made them grow, then she can dream and follow that thought although absence seems to demur! Copyright ( c ) 2018 by Andrew Crisci