The Clocks Go Forward at last

The Clocks Go Forward at last

The clocks leap forward, stealing an hour,

dragging the light from winter’s grip.

Frost-bitten winds retreat at last,

their wicked claws dulled by the sun.

Dark months howled through brittle bones,

iced breath curling in empty streets.

Now, buds dare to break the silence,

petals whisper of warmer days.

Time shifts, the sky grows golden,

shadows stretching softer, slow.

Winter’s ghost still lingers, fading.

The summer calls, and we need to go.