A January day: the sky was loud
With boisterous wind, chequered by tumbling cloud
But yet, beneath our feet, the earth’s asleep,
Dreaming of February; roots that creep,
Seeking for moisture, snowdrops seeking light,
The golden crocus and the aconite,
And then, in March, on every vale and hill,
The clustering primrose and the daffodil;
In April, cherry blossom and the flowers
That flourish in a time of sun and showers.
So, the whole pageant of the year she sees
In January, the time of promises.
Sheila Durbin
