Outside the window Is a dissimilar world Of white and tense gray. Absent the sun’s warming glow The tired snow remains unfurled. Waiting and wanting For the water to set free As it is now spring. Many colors will it bring And will put leaves on each tree. Every day I watch Praying for the warmth to come Quickly to my place So I do not see a swatch. To see the ground will be awesome. My drab winter coat Is now stored in the closet. The sky is bright blue. Out of storage comes the boat There is music in my strut.
The ice cold steel chains Across the white blanket strains To clear level paths The monster with angry growl And its language pretty foul Rusty dual stacks Puffing clouds of grays and blacks Refusing to yield The red monster makes its way Pushing ahead not to stray Flakes of white scatter Recklessly from where they were Soon to be corralled The plow making dunes of white Mittens wave with much delight Towing my wood sled It sheds rust moving ahead John Street is our goal It’s a mountain of a hill Sure to give me quite a thrill My feet used to steer Showing not a bit of fear Over the hill’s crest There will be no stopping now Speeding down I scream a wow The ride is over Wishing it was much longer Looking up to see The distance I have traveled A smile for I am baffled Life is like my ride As did my sled time did slide The sun is setting It’s time to be heading home Of this ride shall not bemoan
The air is crisp as a fresh picked apple,
Makes not a sound moving between the trees.
Showing little, the moon appears bashful,
Or just acting playful, being a tease.
A sprinkle of stars are but a cupful.
Playing hide and seek with the draperies,
So numerous floating by, quite agile.
Looking up at the sky puts me at ease.
Huffing and puffing sending smoke signals,
Warning all there is a chill in the air.
My ears feel the cold air taking nibbles.
Surely, the proper clothing I don’t wear.
Yielding with hand out to catch the crystals.
Such foolishness for I did not prepare.
Like a child released several giggles.
I better move quickly using great care.
Within minutes white stuff covers my hair.
Each flake falls like feathers scattered about,
Not so thick my vision it would impair.
Feeling a special joy in being out.
Catching the white flakes with my stuck out tongue,
Wondering what will happen with winter,
Weather having so nonchalantly sprung?
Time to move to where it will be warmer.
The flag struggles as if to fly away While the trees shake back and forth at their roots Somersaulting leaves look if they’re at play Huddling cows yet to put on winter suits Coal dust colored clouds grumble on their way As small furry creatures go down their chutes What a horrific sight is on display Anything in its way it persecutes
The great north winds I have lived through before
From its meanness there will be no relief
It’s banging and banging at my front door
To get inside to deliver its grief
The sound it makes signifies we’re at war
Showing anger its visit won’t be brief
Again we’re visited by Minotaur
He unleashes anger throughout the night
First beating rain then turning into snow
With each passing hour more fear does ignite
As wind pushes snow into mountains they grow
The sun forces itself through the clouds with light
Those who burst out to freedom don’t wallow
But attempt to control continued fright
For the winds did cease just moments ago
How much damage did he leave in his wake
Depends on his anger in his visit
For he takes whatever he wants to take
Their lives some unwillingly shall forfeit
From his visit there’s sure to be heartbreak
What he leaves behind there is no merit
His horror is what’s kept as a keepsake
There is someone who will never forget
Autumn leaves are now easily scattered,
Running here and there seeking safe cover,
Away from a wind visibly angered.
Is there nowhere to avoid its bluster?
The red rose shows courage standing her ground,
Not yielding an inch as the vexed wind swirled,
In its effort her colors to impound.
As a taunt bright red color she unfurled.
Then ever vengeful wind throws ice of white,
Pummeling her through the darkness of night.
Each passing hour she continues to fight,
Her red color remains at sun’s first light.
Though winning the battle the end is near,
But rose in the snow shall return next year.
