LATE FEBRUARY,

and light begins to soften
around the edges. Snow’s flannel
sheets recede, fold back, and look,
the grass is still there,
a fresh green quilt waiting
to be hung on the line.
Crocus cut their teeth
in perennial beds.
Spring holds her breath.
White-throated sparrows
whistle up the sun.
Every day, another cup of light.
~Barbara Crooker
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