I snatched a photo and jotted the first two lines of this poem yesterday before the degrees plummetted like a wooden shoe off a sky-shelf...
Morning drips from eaves in the sky
Day breaks, a lake-shaped lullaby
Of rivulets rushing down lanes
In splashing circle-note refrains
Where berth and girth of earth imparts
A silver-stippled work of art
How somber, January rains
What lonesome song its air unchains
No little bloom with face turned up
No leafy plume, no flower-cup
As splish-splash lashes dark-toned bark
Of timberline, stricken and stark
…all nature huddles on earth’s street
A world of puddles at its feet
Where not so very long ago
It wore a woolly coat of snow
And on its throat diamonds and stars
Where now the sky pours leaden bars
Time’s temperature hovers between
What waits to be and what has been
It’s give-and-taking intercourse
Can seduce seasons without force
Where life will die and rain will freeze
Determined by a few degrees
© Janet Martin
