Winter Blues
Bleak February, you have no soul.
Cold, snow-less winds whisper
through the skeletons of trees.
The sky is a drab gray,
the lawn, so rich just months ago.
now colorless and muddy.
Those trees reach bony fingers
skyward through the air.
There was a time, in Spring,
when they had
flowers in their hair.
© Ellie Maziekien
02012002