A rhyming poem about Louisiana's recent wintry weekend. |
Here in Shreveport winter paid a visit this past early January weekend. It’s not nice for us to complain, is it, but we wanted the 30-degree days to end. Thankfully Shreveport quickly has returned to the mid-70s for daytime highs. For our tulips in bloom we were concerned, but they all still thrive, much to our surprise. My wife and I stayed safely hunkered down inside for the duration of this brutal winter blast. A fire in our seldom-used fireplace did provide to the poet inside me pleasure unsurpassed. The fire’s reddish-orange flames danced and licked the air; each newly added piece of wood crackled and popped in protest at having been picked to die in the war in which the fire was embattled. The fire’s heat and glow soon warmed our home’s den as my wife and I enjoyed the splendid display. The scientist in me recalled bygone times when fire from burning wood had been Mankind’s way during months of winter’s coldness for survival as he huddled forlorn in his castle or cave. To my wife and me having a fire wasn’t vital but was merely a pleasant memory to save. Please check out my ten books: http://www.amazon.com/Jr.-Harry-E.-Gilleland/e/B004SVLY02/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0 |