Snow falls diagonally
in a hypotenuse wind,
a tempest of downy white,
flakes as big as popcorn.
My son and I shovel in vain,
the snow rising, rising
past and into our boots -
icy and wet on my shin.
We're doing the shovel dance -
"one foot forward, two feet back,"
while shovels and snow madly fly.
Two little fish in a sea of snow.
I see my son laughing.
We laugh and laugh, the belly kind,
until I fall on a cushiony drift and
he throws snowballs at me.
One year the banks were seven feet high
on both sides of the drive way.
This is why I celebrate with champagne
when in Spring the first tulip breaks
through Minnesota snow.
Welcome to Four Lines! I have a goal I would like to write at least four lines of poetry or a haiku every day for the rest of my life. I'm excited about this challenge! Also, along with my daily poem, I will be reading at least four lines of another author's poetry. I'll try to include that here also. So I'm thinking - how difficult can it be to read and then write one poem a day? We will see! - Claudia
All poems on this blog, unless noted, are written by Claudia Callaghan.
© 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016 Claudia Callaghan
Used only with permission. Please feel free to join Four Lines and request permission.