In February’s tender grasp, the days unfold,
A gentle whisper in the heart of cold,
Beneath the frost, a promise softly told,
Winter’s breath, a story to behold.

The sky a canvas, painted hues of gray,
Yet hope persists as dawn breaks through the day,
Each fleeting moment, like a shy ballet,
A quiet dance where dreams and shadows play.

The earth lies silent, resting in its peace,
Yet in its stillness, whispers never cease,
A subtle promise of the spring’s release,
In February’s arms, a sweet surcease.

So we, like nature, pause in quiet grace,
Finding warmth in every gentle trace,
In February’s fleeting, gentle space,
A reminder of our shared, eternal place.