February's pearl, a frosty orb on high,
Hangs in the velvet cloak of starlit sky.
Its light, a whisper, chases shadows deep,
While frosted fields in moonlit slumber sleep.
Bare branches reach, like fingers to the cold,
Their secrets murmured, dreams of stories told.
Yet on the edge of winter's grip, a sign,
A promise whispered, where new blooms entwine.
The moonbeams dance, a silent, silver rain,
As hope stirs softly, whispering again.
The pearl's soft glow, a gentle, watchful eye,
Sees spring awaken, beneath the frozen sky.
