Sun distant lately
Tucked behind Winter's cloak
Dense blanketing clouds
Keeping chilly-eared folks
Grappling for light
Reciting by rote
"Patience, Patience...
Soon warmth will invoke
Presence of joy
As if luck had been stroked."
All that had passed
Was a season of smoke
From chimneys of woodstoves
Their bellies full, stoked
Atop, pots full of water
Whistling, bubbling songs gloat
For it is but a short time
Till the Spring is awoke
And the Sun will arise
From behind Winter's cloak
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