Winter's Sway by Marianne Senechal

Runner Up, Adult Poetry

“April is the cruelest month”

Woods on the rocky knoll are still held in winter’s sway,

trees bereft of blooms and leaves.

Angular branches conjure gaunt faces painted gray,

their winter-worn eyes longing to behold the soft sights of spring.

Warmth and sun this spring delay,

and trees whisper their impatience on another bitter and dreary morning.

How long until warm days come to chase the chill away?

They are not here yet.

Where are clement breezes and sunbeams to coax tight buds to splay?

Closed buds do not freeze.

When will stark branches be smoothed by leaves’ rippling sway?

Green is but a promise.

What makes the leaf-bearded spirit delay?

No place to hide on the barren hill.

Today there is no glimpse of the green man

watching ‘neath the sunlight’s dappled play.

With trees bound in the grip of cold,

his verdant visage is alas, many weeks away.