|(1881) / Artist: Ida Waugh (d. 1919)|
Today I awaken to their whinny,
blue sky beyond my window,
white light pouring through the panes.
According to the calendar
the equinox transpired a spell before,
but they’ve stayed silent;
seeking in the snow for weeks
while Winter’s held the world
still, tight in his fist.
(Is he, at last, losing his grip?)
So, I wonder now at their timing,
pondering the paradox:
(chicken or egg?)
Has the season birthed their song
or do the robins sing spring into extance?
Written for 2014 April PAD Challenge: Day 1 - A beginning and/or ending poem (Two for Tuesday)