I beg a word on winter.
Snow and cold are fine, but something’s missing—
the rustle-song of breeze and piercing blackbird’s call,
green-leaf ground and walls of trees,
early sun and evening alight—
will spring come soon, fair and bright?
Something lighter: an echo poem for Jane’s weekly challenge, with special-order blackbird. I was thinking that Arnold Lobel’s Frog and Toad had an echo story, but maybe I was remembering something from Winnie the Pooh?