Hogging Ground (Redux)

Well, the folks in Punxsutawney drag poor "Phil" out of his cozy burrow each and every year, so I guess it might be okay to disinter this one, which first appeared on this site a full decade ago.

Hogging Ground

How mean is Winter, what a miser with his light,
received so desperately, as when a desert gets rare rain.
So furry figures of folklore are forever held in doubt.
A glimpse, through a seasonally neglected pane:
pink and purple streaks alleged that Spring might come again,
and with it marched in strangers, creatures seldom seen:
possibilities of hope for other things, things of green,
blue skies, brightness, perhaps a hint of love–- the sun was out!
The next day’s dank clouds and winds waged another bout
which fought to freeze – - or melt – - the optimism of one
who’d seen and been fooled by the February sun.




By the bye, down in Gobbler's Knob he did see his shadow today, meaning 6 more weeks of winter.

Dear Aunty
An appropriate piece in current circumstances.
You will excuse me if I refrain from giving you a score out of ten, unlike other irritating wildlife creatures.
Trust you are as well as can be expected.
Best regards
M.

I felt cold reading it (even in the Caribbean) Great 1

Thank you very much, Manichaean and Tonywalt. Keep warm.

We had another two feet of snow here since yesterday, in Southern Norrland.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by AuntShecky

Well, the folks in Punxsutawney drag poor "Phil" out of his cozy burrow each and every year, so I guess it might be okay to disinter this one, which first appeared on this site a full decade ago.

Hogging Ground

How mean is Winter, what a miser with his light,
received so desperately, as when a desert gets rare rain.
So furry figures of folklore are forever held in doubt.
A glimpse, through a seasonally neglected pane:
pink and purple streaks alleged that Spring might come again,
and with it marched in strangers, creatures seldom seen:
possibilities of hope for other things, things of green,
blue skies, brightness, perhaps a hint of love–- the sun was out!
The next day’s dank clouds and winds waged another bout
which fought to freeze – - or melt – - the optimism of one
who’d seen and been fooled by the February sun.




By the bye, down in Gobbler's Knob he did see his shadow today, meaning 6 more weeks of winter.

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Beautifully written. Enjoyed your poem very much!

Thank you, Kiz Paws.