Without a word earth dons a winter coat
And ties a hat of wool under her chin
The garden is a dream in her pocket
The wind a trumpeter with rosy grin
The valley-green is muffled ‘neath a throw
Of diamond-dusted satin; stilled woods sigh
Where but a little autumn-while ago
Feet splashed through russet tatters of July
Behind doored walls with peepholes yellow-set
A coffee-flavored morning starts to stir
How suddenly its windowed frames forget
A world unfurled with flower-field color
The gray face of the sky tops every tree
Its pall, funereal-like, a stone-faced stare
Then like a surge of laughing girls set free
Ten-thousand ballerinas fill the air
...and the footwork of people fills the streets
Silence is spiked with fluffy white halloos
As if none have seen snow-scenes quite like this
The weather is the story on the news
Up yonder Old Man Winter clears his throat
Down-deep summer lies, sound asleep in bed
Without a word earth dons a winter coat
And ties a hat of wool upon her head
© Janet Martin
...well, maybe 'down-deep' is a bit of a stretch but the snow did not disappear with the rain yesterday,
as I mentioned it likely would...oh, well.
