Winter is dying in the valley;

The white dreams of December

are melting into gray,

The ice bids farewell to the river

and flows south to its last call,

The magical dance of snowflakes

in the air has become

a tedious whispering echo

of a season fading;

Mittens once caked with frost

are retired to the closet

to sleep away summer;

Poets scrape at earth and sky

to dig some hiding hint of beauty past

and warmth to come to set to page

with pen anxious and eager for a muse;

Young boys stare in sorrow

at the muddy sledding hills and

unready baseball fields and sigh

longingly, thinking perhaps that this

is the season for discovering girls

since there’s nothing fun to be done outside;

Soon spring shall join us and give us rebirth,

Then summer shall find us

with adventures yet to be told,

Then autumn shall leave us reflecting

on the past and dreaming

of the first magical speck of snow

just around the corner

as the world falls gently to sleep again;

And our White Princess

shall alight on the land once more,

The ancient stone walls of our fathers

shall be hidden under

a blanket of glowing frost;

Thro’ our soggy mittens our hands

shall feel the sting of snow once more;

And Lady Winter shall blow

thro’ our hearts, awaken

our dreams, and once more

flit by unseen,

gently kissing our noses

and brushing our cheeks,

bringing smiles and laughs

from the young and from those

pretending to be young;

And she lives for us, knowing

that we love her for the moment

but shall cast her aside again

like ungrateful children;

And as she ages we shall wish her gone,

abandon dreams of snowy woods,

forsake the joy of frozen ponds,  

and chase the warming rays

of sunlight that bring us life

and send her to sleep.