Tuesday Poetry

Not Yet Spring

By Billie Daddario

Bare trees stretch their dark arms up, scratching the pale blue sky.

The wind blows the falling snow sideways

and the cars pass by with their lights on.

Street lamps’ glow and glare.

The dry yellow brown grass wears a silver white dusting of ice.

The world waits with strong labor pains, groaning like a heart-broken lover

waiting for

Spring.

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