By Carolyn Pinet
I've left the tree up
so I can go on enjoying
the London taxi, the double-decker bus,
and "Joy" set in gold on red plush -
that's what my mother always said
to raise dashed spirits amid winter doldrums.
This January seems never-ending
with bitter cold
and same-old same old.
We are stuck in a deep rut
of trumped and dumped -
can we ever climb out
to start over
with new hope,
ready to cope
with dreary February,
blustery March,
an April overture to spring
gone futile and flat
as if nothing could emerge
new and in bud?
But look, despite everything,
when darling May sings to us all,
hope springs eternal
with each bird's nesting call.