Winter gasps.
Snows rage.
Dallas cringes.
Kids caged.
The snows arrived after the students entered their schools. “The bells toll for thee,” John Donne sagely observes of the now captive young scholars. “Caught, they are,” Yoda knowingly echoes. “These are the times that try parents’ souls,” Thomas Paine bemoans the Mom and Dads slushing and slogging to reach their stranded ones. “Let my children go,” Moses rises to part the weather and make way for the rescue wagons.
Still the white.
Floats and coats.
And slows not to stop.
Birds hide inside and venture not from their sleeted sheds.
A bench alone holds silent vigil from its whitened seat.
Plants with budding thoughts wilt to coat their icy pots.
Water worries.
Divers slide.
Berries hide.
A red ball shivers and cringes trapped in its fenced corner.
Trees bucket up the weather and wait for groundhog’s spring.
Soon children will arrive to see and change the still to a winter play land.
Until that quiet prevails and waits for their first laughs.
When cold drawn angels do transform.
The worries of the sages.
To the joy of.
Kids.
It is fun to wait to watch.
And believe to.
See.
Grandpa Jim