Spring still has time to wait
But now, the earth is a calico cat
The ground is russet and green-furred,
Prickly with the little stems of grass-paper
And the life-burnt shells of leaves
The last legacy of autumn and summer's pride
Clumps of bare, snow-tattered trees
Anchor themselves
Burrs from an eternal night and noon outdoors
Leaning over a weary, cloud-bleached field
Ice and snow still cling,
White fur in harmony with green and gold
A few streaks of red reeds
And silver sun
Soon the cat will stand up,
Stretch, yawn, scratch off all the white of winter,
And go hunting in a morning forest.