In Praise of February

On this gray morning,
Every branch has a droplet
Suspended at its tip,
Like a bud
Or a pearl of milk

Nothing moves

All is suspended
In the equipoise
Of a mild
Midwestern
Winter

The barking of dogs
The sighing of traffic on
The expressway
The whir of an
Appliance

Spiral out into the
Waiting air --
Signals
To the waiting Spring,

Semaphore to the
Seeping aquifers
And sleeping ants,

Drumbeat of the deliverance
Of the Sun
As it ascends once more
To its black
Throne

We who hope
And wait

Hear the crocuses stirring

Smile as life
Comes
And the drops swell
And fall

On the waiting
Earth

--Mr. Gobley