The Fingering in Winter

Standard

Finger pointing to the sky

A tip so lewd

Of crocus shoot

Is rude in thrust

Through winter crust

Of frost and bite

Cannot disguise

The role of ripen

Rich and rise

The burgeoning

Of spring beneath

The seam of winter

Screened demure

In folds of skirting white

The coldness in her eyes

 Are seemingly so pure

 Belies what goes on

Underneath unseen

Unbidden and a law

Whose answer dances

For itself alone…….

 

©K Barr

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