You may not need this for a few days, if indeed you need it at all…
A sonnet for the February Full Moon:
Sing, lady Moon, of the bite of the wind
that chaps the lips and nips the reddened ears,
battling against Winter’s coming end,
as if to ban the turning tide of years.
Sing of the thaw, and the returning frost,
and the footprints of rabbits in the wood.
Speak of the phoebe, quite huddled and lost,
who cannot find any food she thinks good.
Sing, too, of Aquarius departing,
joining sunrise realms ’til Summer’s close;
from heaven’s heights, Orion’s descending,
and there are buds on the stems of the rose.
Slowly the meadows shade from brown to green,
and the ice has fled both the pond and the stream.