The speaker is an older woman at the end of a hard season, watching the light slowly come back. She notices that at six o'clock the candlelight on her table no longer makes a sharp circle, a small sign that the days are stretching. The winter and fall were rough: four people have died, she has new scars, and she is startled to find herself seventy. She says she needs birdsong and good news.
Then comes a small irony. Just as spring begins to stir, with warm sun and sap rising in the maples, her "old religion" brings in Lent, a season of giving things up. Her "Well, all right" sounds wry and a little weary, but not bitter. She decides that if the meat is gone, she may as well fast. The mood is quiet and patient. The poem doesn't promise a big rescue. It trusts in the slow, steady return of daylight, and in her ability to wait for it.