Spring descends, a billowing sheet
touching one spot and then another
in an uneven benediction.
A blaze of white under weak blue skies
soon set to bay by stronger grey.
But hope at least among the debris.
The dull of death gives way to bright turquoise and yellow standards
fight for space among the blackened leave
The chill white filigree of dawn recedes to sun
and slowly the year emerges young and green.
February gone, the march of Spring goes on.
© Dave Kavanagh