February’s Sting

Stark, unforgiving, February,

this day never forgotten.

Burned into the crevices

Of a mother’s heart and mind.

You laden the trees

With ice upon the weak branches,

frozen in time.

A moment too heavy to bear, and

wailing screams of deepest sorrow.

Then a kiss of goodbye

upon the forehead of her firstborn.

And time heals not the pain,

but the Comforter is with her.

And February’s frigid sting

is only an illusion of gravity.

For Spring is eternally bringing

back the memories of joy,

with newborn calves, and

the pipping eggs of the winged.

All God’s creation renews

and May flowers will bloom.

Phyllis Weeks Rogers February 5, 2022.

The poem and song dedicated to my son, Robert Scott Neyland, SR who loved Sinatra’s voice.

He even named a pet cat after him. The cat died two weeks after him.

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