Snow falling faster than it can melt. Unto every one that hath shall be given, says the sky: hawthorn and bridal wreath now twice as white.---Dave Bonta, The Morning Porch
If he had his druthers, he’d rather not be given:
too little time for too much to give back on.
A keen eye to see both sides of a magic coin?
Be a magistrate then, look for the right and just.
And snow falling faster than it can melt?
What ever for? He’d rather they all blow back
to whatever skies they’ve fallen from. Too late
anyway for the grandkids who prayed as hard
as the grumbling Imam now hoarse with his
praying at the muezzin. What’s a hillock for
if it is not snowbound for tobogganing? He will
not suffer the little ones to miss their winter
sleigh. On the other hand, this could be a wayward
winter storm giving back a late wallop for having
been given a welter of clouds and a clash of heat
and cold. He said it’s worth a shrug, like cold tea.
—Albert B. Casuga