Winter Thaw

Splush! Splush! Splush!
Sloshing through the mud
Ankle-deep.
Brown splatters half-way up
My faded jeans.
Listening to the
Incessant peep
Of new-awakened frogs.

Overhead,
Blue sky foretells
Early Spring.
But I am not fooled.
Though tree-frogs call
And the little birds
Begin to sing,
It’s still February.

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