Seasonal Affective Disorder

As I sit in the near-Arctic frigidity
of Winter's icy grip, I grasp
at Jack Frost's talons
frozen solid around my heart.
I attempt to pry them off
with so much futility,
but I hold on to hope.
I know that one day,
ONE DAY,
Spring will indeed come.
Spring will come,
and again and again and again,
I will cavort in fields of love
and black-eyed Susans
while the wind whistles
a merry tune to drown out
the everpresent threat
of impending Winter.