Stop me if you've heard this before: snow, sleet, freezing rain, windy, cold.  See what I mean about Winter?  The Old Man doesn't want to go.  Winter should be the very definition of tenacity.
     In keeping with the weather, I thought one last Winter poem was appropriate.  This one came from a pleasant conversation I had some years back with a substitute teacher with whom I was sharing lunch duty.

Winterizing

 

A man I know came to Pennsylvania

from East Texas.  It happened that we met

during the height of winter's worst weather:

January snow, sleet, and freezing rain,

which, naturally, was the focal point

of our discourse.  Apparently, winter

in East Texas brings frequent and severe

ice storms to coat the very large pine trees,

the boughs of which weaken under the weight

and snap thundering far across the land.

He told me of standing outside to hear

the echoing boom of breaking branches

exploding in war-like cacophony,

as if the end of all time were at hand.

But no; no tanks, not one enemy plane,

no hordes of camouflaged men who pretend

they can't be seen, but are (Death has sharp eyes).

The damage he described was limited

to any number of power losses -

sometimes for hours; sometimes days on end.

"However," he said with great emphasis,

"no loss of life."

                           I'd like to recommend

to every leader of every country

a week of winter spent in East Texas.

If nothing else, the noise from those iced limbs

crashing time and again, with brief reprieve,

might bring about more consideration

before arriving at the decision

to send hundreds of thousands of good men

and women they don't know to their demise.

Perhaps not.  Men think nothing of the ease

with which they kill each other.  Yet, each freeze

in East Texas must bring words much like these:

"It's such a shame about all those pine trees."