A couple of poems to carry you through the rest of winter:
More That Winter Ends Than Spring Begins
By Marge Piercy
Nothing stirs out of the earth,
yet the dogs are trotting in odd
pairs of schnauzer and spaniel;
in small packs with brisk intent
they cross the streets. All over
Cambridge you can hear them barking,
sniffing each other in greeting,
raising their muzzles to drink the air
and read the gossip columns of scent.
Pigeons too are strutting on roof
beams like animate sofa pillows
puffing and cooing as they court
in the storm gutter. The old cat
crouching wary on the stoop suddenly
turns on her back and squirming
white belly up rolls on the sun
heated concrete with a sensuous shudder.
Give it Time
By Wendell Berry
The river is of the earth
and it is free. It is rigorously
embanked and bound,
and yet is free. “To hell
with restraint,” it says.
“I have got to be going.”
It will grind out its dams.
It will go over or around them.
They will become little pieces