by Heather Wilkins
There is a swing upon the boughs
of a snow-laced southern oak tree,
and painted on its seat does smile
a red-faced strawberry.
The stark contrast does give away
its hiding place in white;
to catch a glimpse of such bright red
is quite a lovely sight.
What gentle bout of loveliness
this little fruit does shed—
to sit alone against the cold
and still to burn so red.
So keep your smile every day
until the summer you see,
and watch the ashen snow give way
to the red-faced strawberry.
Heather Wilkins is a native of Alabama and currently a graduate student at the University of South Alabama in the English program. She enjoys writing poetry dealing with animals and environmental concerns.