February. Poem by Miki Byrne

February Lurking.


February, how I hate to see you
Slinking round the corner.
Dragging your cold voluminous cloak.
The one with the poachers' pockets
Into which you stuff warmth like contraband.

I shiver to see your icicle nails that scrape
frosty trails across my skin and your hair,
All silver frosted and wind-wild.
Spiky as a black and leafless hawthorn.

You are small in stature. Yet the chill of your
Dour nature is all encompassing.
In daylights scurrying hours and night-times
Long vigil, you stalk us as we yearn for heat
And despise us for that yearning.