The green has been long in coming.
We have started our seeds,
woven the wattle branches,
kept the dusty millers waiting by the windowsill.
The rain has come, but with it more chill.
The tulips have held their breath.
We've kept our faith in check.
even on a bone-cold morning
when frost etches the beds
and the finches are nowhere to be seen,
there is the promise of green.