SNOW

Snow, as heavy as death,

How you break the frail back.

Shoveling is a gladiator sport, and

Winter is the lion which slays you.

 

Roar the oncoming hordes of flakes.

Sodden mittens clench the staff,

A blade against an unrelenting foe.

Blisters in anticipation.

 

Hurl the churlish weapon in futile rage.

A pain given is a pain received,

For every shovelful is death to someone.

And snowmen weep when the sun comes out.

 

Latticed crystals mock in six-sided glee

Covering once more the open ground.

Laying the monstrous earth to sleep.

Writing epitaphs in mounds of white.

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7 thoughts on “SNOW

  1. Reblogged this on TheDustSeason and commented:

    As the fourth snow day in a row reveals the madness of winter housebound by frigid air and fluffy white stuff, I am revisiting a piece I wrote in 2015. Truer today than it ever has been.

    Like

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