Waiting For Spring

I am dreaming of dawn over Lake Pontchartrain.

Drinking black coffee
out of a chipped stoneware mug
is one of the few things you left me,
that I really care to write about.

I am thinking how Mississippi Delta Jazz,
about New Orleans, and aligning
ribbons and name tags
on dress blue uniform jacket and shirt
in anticipation of a funeral service
probably isn't the best pick me up
on a lonely depressed day.

Outside a gentle breeze scuttled snow
across the barren ground.
Fresh clouds promise an inch or two more,
although the National Weather Service,
and the calendar declare winter over.

I don't think I will be
seeing blossoming flowers
and green grass anytime soon
on my cold brown dead lawn.
Last night's Spring showers froze
as soon as the rain drops
hit the earth.

I'm beginning to think
that the coldness outside
and the loneliness in my heart
may last another season.

I am drinking black coffee
out of a chipped stoneware mug.
Heartbreak is one of the few things you left me,
that I care to hang on to.