Not spring, not yet,
not the type of cold you can’t forget.
Wake and wonder how we slept,
what has been done, what is still left?
Plans will change, uncertainty,
the plans you made unknowingly.
Emotions always come into play,
when rain soaks down,
we feel the grey.
The time between night or day;
a further chance, another way.
© 2020 j.g. lewis