Undulating flakes of frost frazzle bout the winter,
caressing covered grey in white corded ribbon,
each one only its own form of occurrence.

In an unsettled mould mottled with pitter patter,
traced with torpid foot tracks trodden,
memories of man and animal mar the mantle.

Loosely gathered in a languid leisure,
moon-reflected crescent chortle hanging on high,
brought together as one, binding brittle flakes to fly.

Whisking and weaving while snowballs wail by,
dislodging and duck-dodging smiles of winter sly,
with cusped mitts concealing cold fingers’, aim awry.

Oh snap, cold snap, I’m hit that’s cold!
Stone swept cross my frost-stinging nose,
home-bound while I still have feeling in my toes!

Giuseppe Gillespie – September 2021


*** Note ***

A poem I wrote about a snowball fight I had (and lost) in the past.

Listen to poem audio:

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