A Fine Day in February

February and the crocus are diving out of the ice.
The sparrows have come back from nowhere
and flit under the pale sun like myths.

Everywhere a phoenix light is finding its fire
and yet, winter is hardly over
it is still grinding the earth and sky
in its frigid maw.

But today, the land is bathed in a white-gold.
The temple bells of daffodils are ringing
and even a blue sky flag
flying high recites some brave prayer.

I emerge out of my stiff neck
and sniff the new-born scent
of something delicate and carefree being dressed.
Some floral petticoat being flounced
in a changing-room of time.

The dress not quite ready to be seen
but here and there
frills and taffeta appear
as a sign of Springs grand entrance.