Housebound,
while winter weather's windy sounds
Buffet the panes from whence I take my view
The yard, with snowy islands on the ground
A castaway with nothing much to do
Gusts sweep past angrily and harshly prove
They care not their direction or their way
And as the waning daylight becomes gray
I find the atmosphere matches my mood
Where bitterness of life's red wine bouquet
Makes one to think too much, therefore to brood
Yet surely snow will melt, and so my mind
Like feathered flakes, drifts slowly forward too
Intent on optimistic attitude
Where green spring days cannot be far behind

Written by Sara Fielder © Feb 2014