Not-Yet Spring

The ice and snow are melting now,
And drops are falling from each bough.
I try to count them, but, somehow,
The number’s just too great.

It isn’t that the spring is here;
It’s still too early in the year,
And, though I know it’s drawing near,
I’m happy just to wait.

I squelch along the mushy trails
Beneath the hazels’ green-gold tails
And almost tread on two brown snails
Conversing by a gate.

There’s something in the not-yet spring
Which brings what only it can bring.

Photo by Patti Black on Unsplash

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