Weather-Bound

As cold December delivers whipping winds and snow,
we’re stranded in Fargo with friends.  Miles to go
before this unintended stop, December’s onslaught
of gelid battery and wintry wild, distraught
we hunker down beneath low with our newfound friends
as this symphony of Arctic swirl skirls and wends
his way, unconcerned to us humble hominids astir
beneath his prowl, eager only for sting and whirr
from barometric crash, his unrelenting pierce
of airborne ice on tender countenance, so fierce
is the month’s maiden march one monumental storm!
We touch imaginary ferns and tepid streams
encased within our new sanctuary, our dreams
of making Winnipeg on time now dashed, the cold
of He who prowls like hunger raining snow--how bold
this force profoundly ravaging the meek of spring,
urging with icepicks and stilettos that sting
to receive our new sanctuary with great haste--
cold was December’s flavor--outside we had a taste
and realized the taste was strong, and thus we fled
so now like refugees from out we wait instead
inside for Him to rustle pines and prod the crows
or freeze the bark on willow trees, while friends so kind
serve us hot tea as we sit back with peace of mind.


24 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
12-14-19