Tuesday, April 24, 2012



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

This is Poem #24 of my poem-a-day project to celebrate National Poetry Month (April).

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