Category: Poems

O Winter, grisly, icy thing
Of barren white and indigo,
Wilt thou make way when comes the Spring?

Thy fabric-piercing, awful sting
Makes thee Dame Nature’s greatest foe,
O Winter, grisly icy thing.

To just this hope thy victims cling,
Who suff er, cheeks and chins aglow:
Wilt thou make way when comes the Spring?

Thy breath hast stilled the lilting swing
That caused the happy brook to flow,
0 Winter, grisly icy thing.

All hope almost abandoning,
We wonder, as we see fresh snow,
Wilt thou make way when comes the Spring?

One day a flash of Bluebird’s wing
Shall tell us what we sought to know:
0 Winter, grisly icy thing,
Wilt thou make way when comes the Spring?

by Ray Romine Thursday, December 27, 1945

Say what you will, this month of March brings hope!
In spite of marrow-tingling days and nights
Thermometers will touch unheard of heights
One day this month, when troops of maids with soap
And men with screens and spades will try to cope
With this bright season come so quickly. Kites
Appear–and marbles bring on boyish fights,
And hatless yellow curls bob skipping rope.

What if, next day, The sun deserts again,
And crocuses sulk tight-lipped in the cold?
Take heart, chilled robin, life has always been
As full of ups and downs as spring. Don’t scold,
For there, defying winter’s final blow,
The greening willow smiles above the snow.

by Ray Romine Monday, March 24, 1952

Now comes that joyous time of year
When folks are shouting Spring Is Here!
With furious song, the birds are bursting,
And buds, too, which for sap were thirsting.
I’m bursting, too, if one but knew,
With much more work than I can do.
Anathema, I fear, to me,
That term “Busier than the bee.”

by Ray Romine Friday, November 30, 1951