This is my newest poem. You may need long johns on to read it.

Season to Season

Juniper trees once laced in gold
Lost their needles when it got cold
Blushing red and deep orange maple trees
Birch and aspen with yellow leaves
Lost autumn splendors in winter breeze.
We've traveled roads that bump and wind
Revealing beauty of every kind;
One orange fox with head bent low
Seemed so confused where it should go.
Winter's embrace has layered and laced
Every nook, crevice, tree and space
Mountains dusted with icing sugar
Sit like bundt cakes to be delivered
Up ahead amid the crooked road
Two curious moose look stupidly
With jagged legs run clumsily
Into their woodland sanctuary.
The sky has turned an incredible pink
Orange a peach patterns that link
Under fluffy gray massive clouds
And I with miles and miles to think.
The sun shines through icicles hanging from cliffs
In rainbow patterns God's unique gifts
In the woods bushes are majestic reds
Wearing white furry caps on their heads
Spruce trees are draped in cotton batting
The forest stirs to see what's happening.
A bitter north wind seemed roused from sleep
Makes trees to shiver and release
A veil of snow dust in the air
With an attitude of I don't care.
Snow that was mounded moved from its place
The wind forms snowballs that dropped then raced
Like bowling balls down crest and hill
They seem to stop at their own will.

We slow our speed to wipe away
Another sheet of ice and snow
Sunken snow like burrows sinks
Into a crevice where a monster blinks
That gripped the snow in its jaw
Or pushed it about with its paw;
One careful look one can see
A liquid black has fought triumphantly
Broke from its prison down below
Through ice that cracked not long ago.
Each rock that has its special place
Wears its own winter coat with grace
Junipers though lace has gone
Stand elegantly now adorned
with buds of burgundy.
Large flakes of snow have begun
Those caught on our tongues when we were young
And do again when we're not seen
Our childhood days
Of making forts and snowball fights
With hands and feet as cold as ice.
The sun has tried to keep its rightful place
The north wind is winning this day's race
A golden ridge of bubbled light
Moved across the ocean then out of sight.
Powerful waves get flattened as they send
Chunks of ice on the beach of yellowed sand
The sun begins to smile once again
Leaving a glorious path of spotlights then
Gives up the fight to the wind.
Stick pond behind us
Where grand boy got his very first trout
Wind lifting us slightly
As I hold on tightly
Twin mountains are just ahead
Farm, whiteout, mountains and then
The ocean begins again.
Finally home and the ferry has arrived
We thank the Lord we got back alive.   Submitted By: NULL