As the Cold Wind Blows. . .

As the cold wind blows and far flies the snow
For winter’s grand freezing show, do we know
How the blood slows for so many in low places,
Without blankets, socks, coats or moccasins
As they sleep on blocks of ice? Isn’t it nice
To have warm home, safe from storm of chill,
With the thrill of toasting our toes by the
Crackling fire; many are ready for funeral pyre.
Do you know the show’s not so grand for band
Of wandering poor, who see only death in store?
Perhaps, then, we could spare some few layers
To save lives, rather than being thick knaves?

After all, what is in store for those who ignore the poor?
Surely there’s a place to show your face and donate, too?

Giving Way to Old Man Winter

Caelus is now hauntingly dark,
Stark clouds roil with rain
As Sol boils with jealous pain;
Trees strain against the wind,
And bend and bow their heads;
Flower beds ready themselves
For the coming blow, the show
Of storm crow of Tempestas;
Birds nestle down and squirrels
Scurry and chipmunks hurry
To their holes, sole homes
Of hopeful safety; there is
Nothing dainty here happening
. . . It’s Old Man Winter!