Ice spikes drip, at torture pace,
Pine-clumps plunge from upper place,
Minefield yard of scrap and scree;
More flurries on the way, I see.
Mounds of snow, rock-hard with ice,
Will not be moved, for trying– twice,
Porch is heaped with husks of seed;
Here nature’s hungry come to feed.
Rusty vines of leaves entangle,
Redbud’s rangy fingers dangle,
Limp limbs droop where once they bore,
Flakes, water-logged that lag no more.
Frozen fringes silent creep,
Behind the bushes March hares sleep,
The corvine crew morosely caws,
As winter hedges, hems and haws.