In this warmer than normal winter,
the trees are budding early,
in February’s
rain instead of snow.
I feel I ought to go outside
and bring some soothing tea,
play a tranquil song
for harp and strings,
be the sandman for a spell,
send the rousing leaves-to-be
back into their shells,
lest the winds return from the north,
puddles freeze over,
and greening branches waken
to a bird-less lie of ice.
Andreas Gripp
![](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/6c7a02_273a03199be040039a4cd886cdac364c~mv2.jpg/v1/fill/w_657,h_874,al_c,q_85,enc_auto/6c7a02_273a03199be040039a4cd886cdac364c~mv2.jpg)
Andreas Gripp
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