February in Ndrek Gjini’s poem feels like a month pausing between winter and spring. The frost has softened: it no longer “coughs” noisily, but mutters like an old man, and the wind has lost January’s fast, chilly edge. The bare trees are not exactly lovely, yet they appear shy, guarding “thousands of pregnant buds” that promise leaves and blossom. Rather than excitement, the speaker’s mood is attentive and tender—noticing the world beginning to change in small, almost private ways. The ending turns that quiet awareness into hope, with daylight described as having come through a long struggle against darkness. Overall, the poem creates a calm, understated optimism: winter has not vanished, but light is starting to win.
February — Summary
The frost under our feet doesn’t cough that loudly, yet it sounds more like an old man’s mumbling.
The wind is not breathing fast and chilly like last month.
Undressed trees do not look that pretty yet they seem shy, hiding within thousands of pregnant buds.
It’s February, the daylight has emerged victorious from its great battle against dark.