by Martin Heflin

Created on: October 23, 2009   Last Updated: October 27, 2009

LATE SNOWFALL


Late winter's brush of chill
Rebukes the heat drawn forsythia,
Drains the rising fever for
Weather light, and
Accosts spring's arrival like
A bully stealing the playground ball.
None can play except by his rules.

Silence in late March
At early morn
Herald the bully's arrival.
No light on clock,
No hum of fan,
Temperature
Falling.
Transition through rain to ice to snow
Dragged down unsuspecting firs in
A white caped headlock,
While deciduous limbs cracked through
Power lines with ax like precision.

Snow on snow gathered but
Days warmed streets remained
Passable black lines.
Winter weary souls accepted
The burden.
Like Russians at Stalingrad,
They soldiered on
Tired but undefeated.
Winter's supply lines were sorely
Stretched and in two days
Punched out.

Lesson served.
Reminder acknowledged.
We are but small bit players in
The theatre of the planet,
But with Spring,
We rise again to dream.

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