Snow Piled High in Our Backyard

Drifts of dirty, graffiti-white snow
sculpted by blizzard winds
beneath an angry winter colossus of grey,
what would thou teach us?

What secrets dost thou hide?

Warmth of spring, her nourishing rains
will wash thou away
yet thy majesty remains
though soon forgotten
until the hot August sun
framed in achingly blue skies
endears us to thy frigid beauty
and cool charms
which we,
ungrateful humans
in the dead of February
fail to appreciate,
we who never quite know
what we want
or require.

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