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
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