The aspen trees bend under
unyielding March winds.
The grove moans swaying violently
in the late winter storm.
The early birds disappear
having come north too soon.
Another log on the fire
thwarts the rising chill in the air.
Blankets, put up a week earlier
are pulled from the winter chest.
The tea kettle whistles
as the homestead snuggles up
and settles down for winter’s last gasp.
I like poems about seasons and weather and nature. This one is excellently composed and laid-out. Well done, Sue.
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Thanks so much, Bill😊
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Nice one, Sue!!
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What a lovely tribute to the last winter storm.
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A great description of how winter has a last fling!
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We have a place on the floor at the foot of our bed where we keep throwing the extra quilt. One night we desperately need it, the next it is so hot we’re throwing everything off. Strange times. 😘
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Ah, winter’s last hurrah! Well done, Sue.
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Thanks so much 😊
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You’re welcome. 😊
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