Theme: Seasons

February

by R. D. Ashby
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Not without its signposts, as for some Sports' day;
daffodil-bulbs begin to spell themselves in the air;
the tracks limed with frost, and dirtied in the day;
the trees thrown in disorder like the false teeth of winter.
 
February: the name of some poet-knight of lesser calibre;
but perfectly in place, by his steaming horse at dawn;
and coming off the stronger January like a new king:
the haemophilic, the weak, before a disappointed people.
 
What lights are so low as February lights? When Spring
keeps her identity safely for March -- despite the shoots.
February is a wax candle, honoured only by the bringing out:
the unstruck match belongs to its matchbox on the shelf.
 
Yet, every hour of February's waxen blood is holy time:
and no part of God's whole creation the less sublime!

29-Jan-2012

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