Waiting for the Green

The cold cuts through and up my back,
I pull my sweater down and groove.
First cut the snow, then lift it up,
Keep that shovel on the move.

I stop and stare at lacy branches,
Snowy, sleeping, cold and bare.
I think of green and fresh new life,
Of promises and perfumed air.

My faced grows numb, the wind blows on,
The snow flies up and swirls around.
I cut and lift and make my track,
The work is done, there is no sound.

I stop and dream of branches full,
Of sunny days and gentle nights.
I turn and stomp off snow and cold,
And trudge inside to warming lights.

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