Winter Blues



Bleak February, you have no soul.

Cold, snow-less winds whisper

through the skeletons of trees.

The sky is a drab gray,

the lawn, so rich just months ago.

now colorless and muddy.

Those trees reach bony fingers

skyward through the air.

There was a time, in Spring,

when they had

flowers in their hair.



© Ellie Maziekien


Return to Main Page