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It was too early for the daffodils to bloom.
There was too much of earthly gloom
for yellow flowers to resume.

It was too early for the wrens to sing.
The season held a whiff of spring,
yet passing warmth don’t mean a thing.

It was too early for the ice to thaw.
A bitter pill, emotions raw
with nature red in tooth and claw.

It was too early for the daffodils to show.
The hurt remains a picture show,
yet there are times to let things go.


12 Lines
Writer’s Cramp Co-Winner
2-23-20