Musings on winter because it amuseth me not at all. The ice that falleth from the rooftop; the hardened ground slippery beneath my feet; the northerly winds bearing their chilling message that spring is yet a flight of fancy. … And yet I can fancy it …
Old Winter hath his frozen tune declared
With blast of snow ‘pon wind that gusteth fierce.
But, perchance, I’m not so unprepared
My body warm with blankets winds can’t pierce.
Though sleet and snow and icy pellets fall
Upon the ground and mire e’er I go
My repast take I warmly in my stall
No need to stay outside in ten below.
But all is not as bleak as it might seem
As longer grow the days t’ward Lady Spring,
And of the warmer hours do I dream –
Imagination is a wondrous thing.
So, let old Winter wail his icy song
For as the days unfold he’ll thaw e’er long.
See you anon in Poet’s Paddock!
Shakespeare “The Equine”
Copyright Aimwell Enterprises 2012