A Sonnet Beckoning Spring

Can anyone doubt the beauty of fresh-fallen snow,
Or discredit the peace that comes from cozy covers?
Still, impatience yearns for things that sprout and grow,
Colors bright and green with scents for lovers.
Come quickly, spring, and warm these bitter limbs
That life may thrive again and rustle fresh
To pen joy, sweet softness, instant whims,
And free nakedness beyond our breathing flesh.
The chill of winter pierces longevity--
Turning docile to wild and regressing adult to child.
We long for a quick cold lick, a taste of brevity
That leaves us remembering winter with minds beguiled.
Icy wind that beats my panes and views,
Sweep far the cold and these late-winter blues.