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  • Writer's pictureD. Ellsworth Hoag

In Remembrance Of Cold Winters

I grew up in Michigan and spent most of my life in what are called northern climes. I have now moved to Phoenix and live in the sun and heat. However, memories of cold and snow don't just melt away. There is no spring thaw that can erase these thoughts. So one day I sat down and rediscovered in my mind these memories. Here is what I wrote:


Jack Frost painted lacework

on the boughs of trees

and froze dew drops

crystalline on grassy leas.

Mother Nature soon arrived,

Rubenesque of girth

and spread her snowy robe

across the sleeping earth

Then the couple danced a turn

on every lake and stream

leaving a glassy surface

a perfect skater's dream.

Father Christmas entered

quite portly and jolly

white beard, red suit,

jingle bells, and holly.

But winter gets weary

when it gets old

and short days are filled

with bluster and cold.

In every house

the air is moist and full

with the odor

of snow wetted wool.

The days lengthen,

but ever so slowly,

as winter holds on

with a grip that's unholy.

Just about when you think

you're about to break

spring comes a traipsing

all garish and rake.

Read this rhyme

as often as you please

when trouble like the snow

is up to your knees.

Glittering promises

can gutter aft the swell

and leave empty coldness,

a special type of hell.

Just remember the dark days

are the herald of spring

and tune up your vocal cords

sweet hosannas to sing.

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