Rhyming Through a South Side Window

a gray squirrel just hopped by and hardly left a track On snow that's covered ground for weeks Or is it months I rack Upon a well filled memory's shelf Of Winter's lengthy lack. The morning sun shines through the cold Teasing open azalea leaves and fat hung rhodedandrons Bare patches of mossy grasses Glisten dryly in shivery sunlight Neath empty twigs on empty branches All tipped with swell of will be buds This morn is full of shudder coulds And the second cuppa's swallowed cold This winter time is getting old As hungry sparrows' wings unfold. In not a breath of wind