Grey-etched discarded snow
leaks into a muddied path
leading to a locked gate.
Water puddles on a frozen field
while behind a building
daffodil shoots whisper yellow hope.
My slow steps turn from winter
while my key, like the unborn daffodil,
seeks a future warmth.
Cross-posted on Substack – https://joanvinallcox.substack.com/p/winters-end
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