In Winter

In winter when the world is white, and frac-
tured ice lies hidden 'neath the weighty pack
of snow on sleepy lakes, and children use
black coal to dot the i's of frozen men,
perhaps a carrot nose becomes a pen
that punctuates the metaphors of rime.
We warmly wait inside and mark the time
until the spring returns the missing hues
that winter's woven blanket softly hides,
then slowly venture out where warmth abides.

But while we shiver in these northern climes
upon this wobbly world, our southern friends
are basking in the heat that summer sends
and watch their children making diff'rent rhymes.