This bitter afterwinter should not surprise

Coming as it does after March’s Ides

And yet… and still… we dare to dream

Of soft, warm days that caress our skin

With rays of light in gentle perfumed breeze

The catkins sing to spring

As the buds hold fast

Against Winters last gasp

The greening growth, ready to burst forth

At the first hint of hope and heat

I chose the word afterwinter from the Twitter feed of Haggard Hawks, for my prompt suggestion.