The rain in winter hits the ground to run
in rivulets to muddy pool and creek.
The hidden, strong and glaring rays of sun
dare not to draw the veil for one quick peek.
And so it is a weary time, at best
for man within the waves of winter’s rain–
for beasts of burden, birds upon a nest,
for all who shiver but do not complain.
When warming sun removes the veil, at last,
and man is glad at sight of newborn day,
perhaps the worst of wintertime is past
and green-leaf spring is somewhere on its way.
Only the sun can take away the chill
and wake the sleeping daisies on the hill.
c Copyright, 2013, Freeda Baker Nichols
(Shakespearean sonnet, one of my favorite forms to use in writing poetry)