One could see not the stars, as clouds clogged the sky —
Though the stars were alight, I could see to the north —
Down by the horizon, those suns harried forth —
But the surly, burly clouds would not be denied.
“Faster, thicker, colder, quicker,” the happy snowclouds sang.
As if by ritual, my trees reached to cloak their bark —
“Light or heavy, we shall levy,” thus the great oaks rang.
“We shall hold, for we are sturdy,” they sang through every twang —
Leaving overburdened branches dying in the dark.
The Armies of Winter descended to face me on their feet:
A million frozen soldiers armed with tiny icy shards.
I fought them back with just my tongue, they yielded to the heat —
They fast refused to shake my hand, melting at my greet —
Clearly, I painfully admit, détente’s not in the cards.
So I sit there, unperturbed, watching the dancing clouds.
The cold is just part of their wintry melody —
So I sit there listening; they’ve never been so proud —
“An audience!” they sing, and play their music loud.
So I sit there beside the clouds and the trees.
So I sit there and join the chorus.