Winter snowstorms are a pleasure. I love the primal magnificence of the driven snow and sensuous drifts. I revel in being out in the yard clearing the walk and lane, laughing as I work,. It seems to be even more joyous if that happens after dark. 


An Old And Joyous Adversary

 

 

The wood pile’s high

The salt by the door 

Shovel sits on standby 

 

The house is warm

My boots are dry 

Mink oil would do no harm

 

Anorak hanging near the stove

Arctic mits warm shearling lined

Long johns wool socks complete the wardrobe

 

The two stage snow thrower in the shed

Cars parked in a warm garage

Fueled up and chained for winter treads

 

Scotch on ice a cosy fire

My pipe full of Captain Black

Slippered reminisces transpire

 

The storm will come and snow will fall

we'll meet with joy as usual





Poetry by josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 289 times
Written on 2021-02-02 at 12:42

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Everything in this poem, one feels, is exactly as it should be: another delight! Bravissimo. You've been posting some topnotch writing of late!
2021-02-04


Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Never really having known snow - we only occasionally have had some here and then no more than a flurry! I enjoyed reading and could picture the pipe, smoke curling and a warm fire

Elle x
2021-02-02