Push away last year’s wet clogging leaves, long dead
tulips already shoulder their way up
somewhere deep down, a bud
today clouds tumble playfully and scud
tempting to scoop some earth, release a potted primrose
with roots outgrowing sterile nursery compost
but the forecast is for frost
sweet showers instead are cruel snowflakes
pull on a winter coat
yesterday’s come back like a sore throat
even the chill cannot be felt through woolen sleeves
it seems I misinterpreted a promise
Unknown