Beginning

The cold, it clings to ev’ry leaf
And turns each breath into a cloud.
Gelidity, it seems, unbowed
From which I cannot find relief.
Until one morning dawn unfolds
A warmth that once had been forgot.
The Robin Redbreast starts to sing.
The East is painted pinks and golds.
In seeing this, then I cannot
Conceal my joy, for it is spring.

--Dana