Not one storm has come to create the cold
And although the flakes used to form so fast
And descend so swiftly upon the road
No snow has fallen in this winter past.
Oh, I know the chaos such clouds create
And what blood pours forth from a frigid gash
But strange it is when the solstice is late
And stranger yet that I desire such chill
When it is clear warm is our torrid fate.
The December sun seems to stand so still
And from a wounded sky the clouds are bound.
The overwhelmed winter gods have had their fill.
Last night, I watched the snow fall fiercely down
And still no whiteness touched upon the ground.
January 5, 2007