O, long creeping ceaseless winter,
please remove your sluggish heft,
drowsy, leaden, flannel, felt, wool,
laces sopping in filth, tea cannot
Spring, we are waiting. O, season
of zest, basil, wet dirt, loping, palms
pinked by strawberry sap, sky as
handsome as Brewer’s Blackbird,
stars a crystal needlepoint, seen clearly,
not through the smoky veil of breath:
O Spring, lift us.
By Coreen Schaefer
Coreen Schaefer is an educator and writer living in Cleveland, Ohio. She currently serves as a dean at an all-girls high school. Coreen oftentimes sees the majesty of nature through the lens of young children, as she is a Girl Scout leader and mom of three. Her daily prayer is to follow Mary Oliver’s lead: “Pay attention. Be astonished. Write about it.” She keeps a blog of reflection at world with round shoulders.
Photo by Elena Moiseeva