Thursday, January 30, 2014

Of Forecasts and Fair Maidens

The weather man just forecasted that...

‘Early sun will yield to cloud’
I wonder, does she willingly
Surrender to the morbid shroud
That snuffs the sparkle from the sea
And plucks the coral from the sweep
Of drifted winter icy-deep

Morning’s maiden youthful, gold
Must put her bright day-dress away
Does she rebel as she is told
To wear instead a robe of gray?
Is she demure or does she wail
Behind a melancholy veil

Early sun will yield to cloud
Though now she spills in merry mirth
And holds her head up high and proud
As golden glory gilds the earth
Before her somber peers accrue
To hide away her gold and blue

© Janet Martin

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