painting by Tony D'Amico
“The first snow is like the first love.”
The northern climes suffer winter’s disdain,
buried in tons of icy snow,
which is fine if you’re a Dane.
In southern climes, at least
winter clears out the smog;
hot diggity damn.
Silver tip sleeps like
something comatose, waiting
for the change to Spring.
Posted over at dVerse Poets Pub