Something there is wants the snow to stay
keeping spring sprouts warm thru the night
and day until we can begin again to grow
in the sun’s majestic magnificent glow.
Unlike the undertow of the riptide, under
snow things stay in place and time stops
the wind’s whips snap over our heads
barely disturbing our sleep down below.
My neighbor outside dressed in muffs
shovels the snow off his cement ways
while I awake but still under snow
dare not disturb a single snow flake.
There are gaps in my thoughts like
missing teeth so I can’t take my ease
like the retired rich man in Luke
who does “eat, drink, and be merry.”
I say to my soul stay under the snow
it is a gift from a keen rich boss who
knows in his other hand must throw
suns of summer to heat green souls.
The Coming of the Toads 