Winter stands on flat frozen feet.
Cold circles swirl, move and in
daylight masquerade.I am
blinded by the stinging swirl.
Here, near my window,
the cat's bowl rests
on the dark plank floor
This season's Specter, the
Ghost days wipe all memory
of high soft summer winds,
a deep water, strong
and free summertime songs.
May I be patient with this winter
cold mutt of a gun down on the
wide hipped grey trench which
in summer feeds my poetry.
You may ask why I seldom write
these days.
I wait for you. I warm
that for which you are
not responsible.
But like Mable in my poems
you sing.
Caroline Shank
2.10.22
Feb 10, 2022
Feb 10, 2022 at 8:53 PM UTC
Winter stands on flat frozen feet.
Cold circles swirl, move and in
daylight masquerade.I am
blinded by the stinging swirl.
Here, near my window,
the cat's bowl rests
on the dark plank floor
This season's Specter, the
Ghost days wipe all memory
of high soft summer winds,
a deep water, strong
and free summertime songs.
May I be patient with this winter
cold mutt of a gun down on the
wide hipped grey trench which
in summer feeds my poetry.
You may ask why I seldom write
these days.
I wait for you. I warm
that for which you are
not responsible.
But like Mable in my poems
you sing.
Caroline Shank
2.10.22
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