I don't like January,
It is a cold month
And I enjoy the sun.
In January the sun
Is a pale yellow,
Without an ounce of warmth.
The pale yellow
Of the yolk,
Of a store bought egg.
Is it wrong to prefer
The Orange yolk
Of my own birds
Running strong and free?
And even on warm days
The wind is cold.
In January the wind
Is out of the North.
Not from the southeast
And the Gulf of Mexico.
No, I do not enjoy January.
It is a stark, dreary
Time of year.
Leafless trees,
And skies the color of denim
Washed a million times over.
There is a knawing
In my gut.
And a sad song in my heart
That longs,
For the rebirth
Of late February.
1/10/2017
Alton, Texas
Amen brother. Me too. I love that beautiful, simple (yet deep) comparison you did with the question of preference over your own birds Orange eggs. Metaphor of the uniqueness of nature, spirit and human choice. Great stuff!
A nice poem on what is bad about January. loved the style in which you have inked your feeling about the month. Liked it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
-a sad song in my heart That longs, For the rebirth It's unpleasant for you but it's pleasant in hot countries. Of late February.