February draws us into her cold embrace,
and wraps us in winters snows, and in her haste,
denies that, upon which we are based,
our abilities for the wild, unto nature, we brace.
Oh cold cruel winter, whilst thou not loosen thine grip,
remove your ice from the foxglove, winter lily and rosehip,
the warm spring winds, thru the forests silently slip,
March beckons, and springs sweet juice, she quietly sips.
