Angelus

What waits for us in windows marked with dawn?
First slant of light invites us with its show.
Today there's snow that layers safe our lawn.
But next we'll see new grass begin to grow.

And some with blankets warm cling to the cold,
While friends reach forth strong arms to beg for sun.
Are we content too long and then grow old?
Or will tomorrow tease us as we run?

So snagged in memory, shrug away the gifts.
Too chilled by loss to laugh and hug the day.
Or ever marching, working future shifts,
We miss the prize and lose our chance to play.

And so with questions sunlight touches field...
Shall Spring rush in if Winter does not yield?