No one can force the Hand that moves the weather...
The landscape rolls like a rusty, tin can
Out to the pout of a stone-cold, gray sky
Tree-lines like derelicts sketched on its span
Stand at attention in somber reply
Brawny the breeze that was buxom in June
Wishing for whispers that sparkle and glow
Wind-minstrels wander, wonder; heave a tune
While heaven’s levee grows heavy with snow
Earth is a thatch-roof shielding the repose
Of seedling slumber in summer-land’s source
Guarding the bedside of tomorrow’s rose
Waiting for that which nobody can force
Night fizzles, falls like a flattened balloon
Beneath the drizzle of dark-dawning day
People board Possibility’s platoon
On a mud-colored tide they sail away
While the landscape rolls like rusty tin cans
Out to that hole in the wall past the trees
Where old Man Winter is grinning with plans
That we know exist and yet nobody sees
© Janet Martin
We find it hard to grumble when we remember two years ago...vast power outages due to the worst ice-storm we had in years!
Our power was out from Sat. eve. until Tues. evening (Christmas Eve) Some were without power for almost a week.
We find it hard to grumble when we remember two years ago...vast power outages due to the worst ice-storm we had in years!
Our power was out from Sat. eve. until Tues. evening (Christmas Eve) Some were without power for almost a week.
