imbolc

 ‘ULP!’  I exclaim.

 ‘tis Imbolc

Tree’s cloaks

Have begun to bud,

No leaves yet,

But that will come,

And every slim limb

Will be dressed in flower.

It’s the year of the Rabbit

Celebrated by

Traditional Chinese spy balloons,

Earthquakes and threats of war.

But the robins in my yard

Don’t care.

They’re only here

For the birdseed.

And I’m only here

Until I die.