Another squall raged up the coast
and smothered us again with snow.
Today it's bright and sunny but
the wind chill could be five below.
All bundled-up, I stroll along
half-shoveled walks between high walls.
Victorian houses fringe the street,
unsettled snow on roof tops sprawls.
The wind's a newborn baby's squall
that rips through shrubs, the tips of trees.
It whistles 'tween the tight-packed homes,
becoming then a codger's wheeze.
That blizzard swept thick smog away
and cleansed the air dramatically,
yet ling'ring still's the scent of pines
whose laden boughs sag wearily.
Though speeding plows kick slush about,
It's hard to trod through snow-clogged streets
and parkways all have sloping hills.
One wears tall boots or shoes with cleats.
A turn-your-collar-up stiff breeze
hints strongly now more snow's to come.
But presently my town's serene,
a postcard world that's optimum.
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| Writing Prompt |
A quatrain is a poem that has four lines for each stanza. It usually has rhyme scheme of abab or its variant, xbyb. Click here for an example. |
Author Notes
Artwork courtesy of Google images.
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