February's iciest
can not undo the Muse.
Decending like a maelstrom,
she blesses me.

Writing under a woven veil
of words like lacey inspiration,
I shun the snow
and ice
and cold
for greater company.

Winter's blast of frigid melancholy
can not touch the fire within;
I write with the hand of Destiny calling.
my eyes fixed on the Spring.

Eventually this song will fade,
and be replaced by strumming.
A new tune will fill the warming air,
and melt cruel February's hold.

The Muse and I forever bound,
won't lose each other's grip.
We'll entwine our souls,
ever closer,
united by Vernal hope.