The Time Between

In the dead of winter,

crows call out,

their song a splinter-

in the silence of doubt.

Spring is longed for.

Its warmth wanted more-

than ever before.

Though, in the time between,

beauty can be seen.

Winter’s icy breath,

is as silent as death.

As time slowly stills,

waiting for spring’s hills-

of flowers that draw in the rain.

As the chilly air is all that remains-

of winter’s comforting embrace,

when there’s only spring’s grace.