To the Editor:

I would like to share this poem I wrote, as it is particularly timely.

The Cynic in February

Why trust a month of varying days.
Twenty-eight? Twenty-nine?
A month that trips the tongue,
bewilders groundhogs,
offers a pale diluted sun
to mock our chill.

Beneath fresh layers of snow
lies treacherous ice.
Beware that February sky,
Blue and serene as a nursery.
Storm clouds threaten
our springtime fantasies.

Don’t believe lovers
who bring valentines.
Red satin can hide a carboard heart,
sweet phrases, like soft-centered chocolates, cloy
and lacy paper promises
may blow away in March.

Kathleen Henderson Duhaime
Raymond Road