Seasonal Poetry

3

The last, delicate snowflakes lingering in the air,
waiting to be gobbled up.
Billowing, writhing swirls of breath
Crunchy, dirty slush,
hiding in discreet clumps.
Wistfully remembering winter storms.

Spring is a rumor

that I don’t believe

It’s a conspiracy theory

with just not enough facts to back it up.

We’re in a lull from school canceling snowstorms,

but I haven’t checked the weather for tomorrow.

It could all be a trick,

this warmy stuff.

Everything comes in threes.

Speakers make three points to support their assertion

Fairy Tales are full of images and characters of three

There are three branches of government

Men have three testicles

There are three genders

And we have three eyes

Three seasons: winter, mud & summer

Winter never closes its eyes completely, you know –

It’s always ready to spring back into action.

Because the other two are just there to make the first possible

One by itself has no context or meaning

So we have three of everything.

There are three of me

But I’m the important one to whom you should pay attention.

Here are some more poemy-things:

snowflake

“elegant Snowflake,” from¬†capadia design

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