Ballad of a Weary Winter

A poem

The snowdrops are nodding in ivory bonnets

Lone robins composing their bleak winter sonnets

And I’m reassessing, tired of counting my blessings

My nail beds are throbbing with failed second guessing

Cold weather has chewed me, I’m spat out, confused

Left bruised as a Tuesday in Saturday shoes

Each storm left me battered, each young branch; it mattered

Clinging to Spring hope as last leaves lie scattered

Waiting for weekend or birthdays or Christmas

The lockets of hope on a tightening necklace

The cherries on cakes that keep everyone cheery

Summoning runners as old legs get weary

But on we keep plodding, proof of yesterday’s pudding

We’re something, we’re nothing and that’s our undoing

And in this bland circus, I seek out a crocus

A proud purple purpose to offer some focus

The spiders keep weaving, keep winding their bobbins

The thread it keeps coming. I should tell the Robin.