By Dave Hood
From my bedroom window,
On the first day of winter,
I gaze at a grey sky, naked Maple tree
Next to the wooden fence
Silently, Snow flakes whirling,
In the wind of winter,
Gracefully blanketing the wilted
black eyed Susan’s in the garden,
covering scattered, decaying leaves
on the frosted back lawn.
I imagine a lissome figure skater
elegantly spinning, skipping,
dipping, then gliding, stopping
in silence on a glistening sheet of ice.