Mistral-music

Blow then, oh frigid gale of howling song

Sweep over argent landscapes petrified

Across blue tree-limbs splayed upon the lawn

Cajole the winter-stricken countryside

Unleash your silver gusto; evergreen

Bows low beneath the tempo of your tune

And over all the earth a gilded sheen

Rivals the opulence of emerald June

Blow then, for every season has its day

A splash, a dash and then it drifts away

The deluge of your gripping overture

Though startling in it raw, ruthless release

Depletes its stores of winter-white verdure

The world is tranquil in snow-muffled peace

The kiss of Father Time is not reserved

For flesh and blood; seasons succumb beneath

His touch; the remnant of its mien preserved

In memories of alabaster sheath

Thus we do not despise your vulgar thrust

For soon your venom dies; dust unto dust

Tonight your song lunges against the sill

It moans outside the door, a lonesome wail

Oh, I would let you in but for your chill

So you remain, a wild and wandering gale

With renewed passion you employ your wrath

And we are at the mercy of its lay

Beneath your shroud the brook and garden-path

Wait patiently for Spring’s imminent day

Then fling your melody into the air

You are the harbinger of breezes fair

© Janet Martin 

Tonight the song rises and falls, from flurry to calm.

Song for a Winter's Night -Gordon Lightfoot 
 J~