I step outside and hear birdsong
on the -14 degrees sunny March morning
and the laughter from my daughter sliding,
face first, down a bank of snow.
Beside the woodstove, I feel the warm
embrace of my love
and see the brightness of felted wool
glowing on our dining table.
Later, I bask the illumination of the full moon
on winter’s white.
Tear drops fall into wisdom.
There is still room for joy here.
Sarah Eve, Woodbury
This poem was written for the Verse-Village celebration of April Poetry Month.
