|"Tragedy of Winter's Smite" picture from Severe Weather in Ohio|
It may seem sinful that this breeze blows cold
Leaving nothing more than a frozen wasteland
The gods above must be bickering up a storm
For us mortals below are certainly feeling scorned.
From inside our hovels there is a whisper
Like a rogue it lingers through the seams of wood
It hisses and yells with an angry bite to its words
Wanting to barge through the windows and doors
The wisps of winter bang and thrust forever it seems
Although the warmth from inside is dimming slowly
The wick of candles flickering in waves of light
Entrancing those mortals inside with wishful dreams
That this blizzard, horrendous, will soon disappear.
Alas, this will not be the fate of this night
For the gods above bicker for what seems like eternity
For they have naught any quarrel less than us,
And are higher born in this universe that we live.
Buried now in a blue blight and deepening snow
So covers my heart in ice and woe – winter's bite
Becoming more of a friend than any other might
Except save for this woolen blanket at my thighs.
This is a darkening upon us in this time of white
A time in which we mortals cannot soon fight
Till the morning sun glimmers and burns at its height
Smiling upon our pink noses and reddened cheeks
And brings with it the golden rays of decadent spring.