Whose freezing winds have left me cold.
Black ice and blanket snow have been
A dampener on my social scene.
My house is cute, perched on a hill
The road is steep and not a thrill
When frost and biting wind make moan
I have no choice but stay at home.
The fields and forest swirled with snow
See early morning children throw
With eager hands great powdered balls
Creating artwork on the walls.
Reluctantly, canine cohorts
Cajole their owners, out of sorts,
Away from warmth, to find a tree.
Not one of them belongs to me!
After blizzards, sunny skies
A heron on the lake espies
A tiny movement on the ice
And darts out. Death is never nice.
Blue skies by Arctic winds made clear
The light is perfect on the mere
The frosted puddles, edged in mud
Reflect bare branches, scarce a bud.
“It’s a record,” says the weatherman,
“For the cold to reign for such a span.”
We’re not impressed, but look to March
To soften winter’s coat of starch.
(c) Poet in the woods 2014
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