Easter Sunday
On Tuesday, it was eighty.
Easter Sunday, we got a foot
and a half of snow. It is hard
to have sunny, creative thoughts
when the weather is crapping
an inch an hour on all things.
I can't imagine sailing ships,
human cargo, or maligned
pirates. Winter has returned.
I can't create a flowering
garden when the ground
is being as choked as I.
I can only submit that I
am weak and bleak today.
Tomorrow might be better,
but real life returns instead.
Maybe some snow will
melt and a daffodil won't.
Easter Sunday, we got a foot
and a half of snow. It is hard
to have sunny, creative thoughts
when the weather is crapping
an inch an hour on all things.
I can't imagine sailing ships,
human cargo, or maligned
pirates. Winter has returned.
I can't create a flowering
garden when the ground
is being as choked as I.
I can only submit that I
am weak and bleak today.
Tomorrow might be better,
but real life returns instead.
Maybe some snow will
melt and a daffodil won't.
posted by Vickie at 10:31 PM
2 Comments:
Hello, old friend.
Hi Vickie,
The poem suggests your thoughts on how weather can really affect many small things that pass by your mind. I liked the line "I can't create a flowering
garden when the ground
is being as choked as I." Although I have never experienced a snowy winter(I'm from India), I can imagine how it might feel. :)
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