SPRING

SPRING

The wind is bustling around
         the house tonight,
Sweeping away the little sparkling cobwebs
Clinging to the walls,
Whistling down the guttering
So that some bird will have to start
Again in the Spring.

Then the snow came.

And the outside cat,
Who came out of nowhere,
Padded across the white grass,
Into the greenhouse,
For his portion of biscuits.

To curl up in the cardboard box
On the old cover set in a warm corner,
And dream of Spring,
When little fat birds would fall
Out of their windswept nests
Right in front of him.

                        © 2019Gwen Grant

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