Saturday, December 10, 2011

The Battle of Winter (a sonnet of sorts)

In the battle of snow and sun
The latter always seems to win.
Little flakes their courses run,
Wreak havoc, making Jack Frost grin.
Like Russian soldiers of old days,
Merely fodder for the cause,
Falling there on paths and ways,
Eliciting hushed oohs and aaaaahs.
The sun will catch with deadly ray
And end the mischief of that day;
The flakes will surely melt away.
But one more time Jack Frost will laugh
At this, the sun's presumptuous gaffe.
For he has "ice" who works on staff.

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