Taken a few years ago at a previous house, ice not uncommon inland in winter. I decided it was too thick for the birds to break through, so I gave them a little help.
There’s an ill wind in the north,
as springtide fades and darkness descends,
and a sharp chill fills the air.
Leaves of all denomination are blown about
without a thought or a care,
while ice has taken the ground once warm with hope,
and is now possessed by unwelcome forces
that seem to be here to stay.
When will it go away? We ask.
When spring returns, of course,
two years hence,
and Jack Frost is no longer,
then the Capitol freeze will thaw,
and the bulbs of hope,
though battered by the cold,
are yet hardened survivors,
ready to rise up and show their colours.
©Paul Vincent Cannon