Hope Comes in Crimson

Look to the top
Of the poplar.
Lifeless, and
Armoured with glaze.
Monochrome sky
For a back-drop.
Monochrome mood
Now, for days.
Caught in the
Doldrums of winter,
Dampened and
Chilled to the core.
Hear him, the pure
Note of promise.
Fluid and full,
Troubadour.
Perched above all
That is dreary.
Scarlet friend, come
With spring’s tune.
Singing the
Prophecy clearly:
“It’ll come,
It’ll come, soon.”