Icicles grow before my eyes
As the cold wind cuts
Like a heartless lie
Deep are the furrows of thickening snow
Engulfing my existence wherever I roam
Blinded by the white I can no longer see
The ice in my heart now guiding me
And the storm rages on over the hill
The sun slowly dying from this endless chill
And how I wish summer were here
Those hot long days where woes disappear
Where the warmth and the light
Replenishes my soul
Oh stop your complaining there's just no pleasing some!
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Author:
Saxon Crow (
Offline) - Published: August 11th, 2022 03:31
- Comment from author about the poem: Got a bit lazy with this one haha
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 25
- User favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek.
Offline)
Comments4
I like your writing , crow )) summer can be nicer than winter although I feel it can also be ‘ too warm’ . I think it’s going to be in the thirties again by the weekend . Spring is my favourite season .
Kinda the point of my poem VB. We all fantasize about the seasons we aren't in but complain when they are too extreme haha
Yeah , I understand your point . I think it was 38 a few weeks ago .
2 more comments
You aren't going to claim that the English are the only ones who complain about the weather (although they have this reputation) are you? 'Tell ya it just ain't so.
Good fun write, Sax.
I claim nothing Dave. It's all good
What a super punchline you teae us toward with this unseasonal jibe.
Gimmie icicles on sills and beware of yellow snow... tis the weather for punnets and ice cream.
Yellow snow. How comes it's never warm? Not that I've picked it up of course.
If only that was happening now, I would be much happier.
Andy
I'll.settle for a lovely autumnal day myself
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