The sky is heavy, dark and gray
This late-in-January day.
Above the gray, the unseen tooting
Of a flock of high-commuting
The seasons never cease.
The cold of winter turns to spring.
The lilies in the garden fling
Their cheery bright-green hopeful stars
And summer's heat cannot be far.
I grab and scatter wanted seed,
Pull out a pesky winter weed,
Then go and prune rambunctious fig
Until it's shaped and not so big.
Though the fig tree should not blossom, nor fruit be on the vines, the produce of the olive fail and the fields yield no food, the flock be cut off from the fold and there be no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the LORD; I will take joy in the God of my salvation. --Habakkuk 3:17-18