The month retreats with quiet grace,
It’s hours long, its measured pace.
The world feels hushed, a steady breath,
Between the start of life and death.

The days were dim, the nights were deep,
The world, it seemed, had gone to sleep.
Yet still, the clocks ticked slow but sure,
A silent rhythm to endure.

The year began with whispered plans,
With tired hearts and weary hands.
Resolutions, softly made,
Now linger where the shadows fade.

But look! A light begins to grow,
The days stretch wide, though still they’re slow.
A hint of something yet unseen,
A tender bud, a trace of green.

January’s weight begins to lift,
Its stillness offers quiet gifts.
A moment’s pause to dream, to mend,
To hope anew as it must end.

So let it pass, this month of gray,
It brought the night, it clears the way.
For though its skies were blank and bare,
It leaves us stronger, more aware.

Farewell, you month of whispered cheer,
The darkest part of every year.
We carry forth your tempered flame,
And rise to greet what next will claim.