The Last Blizzard

Every year, at the scheduled arrival of March, Mother Nature became seasonally enraged, Like a lion, an unjustly imprisoned beast in a cage, Like a cancer patient walking on the last stage For the last time - the last baby is now aged; Two seasons are about to rush, crush and crash. Every thing started with the hauling and yelling winds Slapping their huge feathers on all windows, Mother Nature’s heavily breathing on different rows Of the trees that refused to be scattered all over like the sands Of the battered beaches, like the small adoring plants, Which the deceased grandmothers left on the slants. Every year, it is the same old thing, the same old rituals, Yet the school children just love it, since all classes are canceled; The teachers are understandably elated, because they were told To stay home as well; the aborted duels Are bound to take place another time, another day, Where everyone will fall under a lighter tray, a better array. The last winter storm was really a prelude to a cool spring, Just like Valentine’s Day was the prelude to Mother’s day; At dawn, don’t be surprised to hear the cries of a new offspring, And hundred of little ones performing at the last school play. Copyright © March 2009, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved