Winter came early
Extending its cold hand
Shaking snow about
From grey cloud shakers
Snow lands as salt
Blanketing ground below
I watch as a snowplow
Cuts through to open ground again
Evening comes with full moon high
Leaves rustle along branches
They shake for cold wind comes
Wind whisper among leaves
Telling them darkness will last longer
For which their color will drain
Turning them brown, red, orange and yellow
And one by one they drop in heaps to ground
Their life drying up crumbling when footsteps trod
Wind carries away
I love you more than stars of night.
Which shine their radiance with their light.
To where they sit upon the sky
To watch over you and I.
I love you more than sweet music of harps.
Which softly play with many sharps.
To where they play among the stage
So I can hear you sing all day.
I love you more than rain like showers
That pour their drops over all the flowers.
To where they fall from up above
I will see you safe and dry.
I love you more than flowers of blooming spring.
Which blossom their petals with what they bring.
To where they open their flowering sight
Of what I have seen our future is bright.
I love you more than the bright golden moon
Which only shows its beam at six to soon.
To where I will wait for you to arrive
To tell you what you’ve waited to hear.
I love you more than all my heart.
That had me beating it from the start.
To where I am now about to tell
That you are the one and I know it well.
I wrote a poem and a wolf took off with it in his mouth.
He ran quickly through trees and across clear river as I tried to catch him.
Up over hill moon shone it’s golden orb.
I stopped upon the hill crest and looked below.
Around fallen logs a wolf pack gathered waiting for their leader.
He came to a stop around them and gently placed my poem upon the ground.
He nudged the creases out and with elderly wise eyes read what I wrote.
He finished; tipped his head and responsed to my poem.
His wordless howling song tugged at me for I had written about love of nature.
He finished his song and looked up to where I was on hill.
He gently took my poem and raced back up the hill.
He stopped inches to where I was and bowed his head towards me.
I nodded to him taking my poem and clutched against my chest.
He turned around and raced back down to his wolf pack.
I stayed the evening and listened to them sing their leader’s song.
It was sweet to my ears to know they loved my poem.
I write to say my season is not done yet.
Another two weeks of snow and ice it will be.
Days will be cold; ground will still be frozen.
I am sorry for late word.
This torture to prolong my season,
I want to see my flowers bloom.
I want warm air to blow through
Instead of freezing cold.
Why, must you add two weeks of more winter.
It is this year to add more winter.
It won’t be negative degrees
Like three weeks ago.
I’ll keep it tame; don’t you worry.
Your season will come soon enough.
Thank you for my concern.
This will give me time to prepare.
I will call the clouds and the rains
And whisper to the winds
To start two weeks after this cold.
Spring will come then
With budding daffodils and flowering trees.
Any more changes let me know
For the people are tired of winter now.
Summer winding to a close
Air is cooler
Humidity almost gone
Change of seasons is coming soon
Darkness lingers longer in morning
And comes quicker in evenings
Light begins to fade quicker
Struggles to rise in early morning
Summer has now begun to slumber
As Fall begins to stir awake
Rotating of seasons is now in hand