The snow bedecks the deck
the swing and windowsill
and expletives explode
from every daffodil.
The snow bedecks the deck
the swing and windowsill
and expletives explode
from every daffodil.
Icy visage
deck as mirror
transparent message:
winter’s still here.
Encased in numbing
frozen air
the world succumbs
to dark despair.
But wait! What errant
buoy is this?
What harbinger
of warming bliss?
Why does it glower
all grumpy of feather
as though I ordered
this lousy weather?
Yes, robins, dear reader! A red-breasted throng of them on the heels of freezing rain. And all frowning. What did they expect? Palm trees?
When you’ve decked your deck with autumn hues
of scarlet, gold and light chartreuse
you don’t expect what can appear
when summer leaves a souvenir.
Nobody planted it but itself
no phantom gnome or garden elf
it had to see, after hearing the tout,
what Thanksgiving and Christmas were all about.
Thanks again to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives
and D.J. Berg’s green (and yellow and red) thumb.
Sometimes the genies of summer
won’t let go their hold
so we arrange their favorite bottles
and put out our own red and gold
thus do we help Mother Nature
get on with the business at hand
cooling our heat-weary world
coloring it with new crayons.
Thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives and the D.J. Berg Whimsy Archives.