February

Comfort food as the day is long
Fills the crevices in every salon
From the emerging rosehip tip of dawn
To the buried dusky fondued prong

Napkins delegate dish to tong
Around the table 'til dinner is gone
Obliterating the sunset in the lamplight drawn
Tight to the walls foreshadowed oblong

As the rites of fetes are strong
The faint spirit of the spring outshone,
A vaguely lustrous spectre wan
Saluted in the evening song

In the moment, lives February
What's to come is secondary