For The Wind's Beckoned Call

"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.