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Cold and Windy Birth of A Season
Sunday sonnet
I feel the cold wind blow across the one
half-inch or so of freshly fallen snow
while rays of light from our old distant sun
shine softly on the Winter scene below.
The chickadees fly straight down from the tree,
the silver maple’s glad to lend a roost,
finds crunchy coat of snow mixed with debris,
the seed-encrusted white a birdsong boost.
So cold the rhododendron curls its leaves
so tightly wrapped that Pan would play the flute
while oak leaves tumble dry, wild wind sound weaves
its way through weeds still green. This cold’s a brute.
It feels a bit more pleasant now, despite
the cold, with this lengthening of the light.
Thank you, The Daily Cuppa, for publishing these Sunday sonnets.