Winter’s mounds of crystal flakes
Blanket the barren sleeping ground.
A gentle breath of spring is whispering,
I will not forget, I promise to astound.

An early thaw mischievously teased
Revealing drab blades of lifeless grass.
An icy glaze unexpectedly encapsulated
Each naked branch with crackling glass.

Winter is not ready to release her rigid grip.
She is not willing to relinquish or transfer.
Songbirds are preparing for their serenades.
Pussy willows are anxious to stretch and purr.

Theresa Ann Moore

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/is-it-spring-yet/