by Abbie Johnson Taylor
I’m frightened of slipping on ice,
falling and breaking my ribs.
The days are as quiet as mice.
“More nice days,” the weatherman fibs.
Conditions are ever so cold.
The forecast is ever so nasty.
Still, I must be so bold
when I’d rather enjoy a hot pasty.
I’m wishing the weather were fine.
It’s too frigid now for ice cream.
If only I’d see the sun shine.
Is it really a crime to dream?
I wish we could have warmer days,
get rid of this wintery haze.
I wrote this poem over twenty years ago. At the time, I’d just joined a local writers’ group. A guest poet taught us to write a form of sonnet that has fourteen lines with every other line rhyming and the last two lines rhyming together.
It was mid-winter, and as I usually do this time of year, I longed for the snow and ice to go away and the days to get warmer. As you no doubt have realized, the above poem reflects this. It was published in the winter quarterly issue of The Avocet. You can click the link below to hear me read it.
abbiejohnsontaylorJanuary 24, 2023
I hope you enjoyed today’s poem. Thank you for reading.