ODE TO WINTER

Editor's note: "Some folks dread to see winter arrive; others hate to see it go," Dad wrote as the introduction to this poem. "I guess it depends on your appetite for weather."

The northern wind is howling
Like a banshee in the night,
Overcoating lawn and garden
With a coverlet of white.

Wires along the highway,
Whining in the cruel cold,
Cry that winter's got us
In its bitter strangle hold.

The hoary frost has settled
O'er the garden corner post;
In the pale moonlight it shimmers
Like an eerie sheeted ghost.

I appreciate the beauty
Of the snowy winter scene;
With the world in fleecy garments,
It appears to white and clean.

But let me clear the record,
So as not to be amiss--
It doesn't take me long to get
My belly full of this!

WEATHER WORDS

Editor's note: "Nobody is happy about the weather all the time," Dad wrote as the introduction to this poem. "Some complain about it more than others, and everybody comments on it when they can't think of anything else to say."

Whatever the kind of weather
You'll seldom hear me complain;
It makes no difference whether
It's a blizzard or mid-summer rain.

Or when the north wind is blowing,
Cold enough to tingle your spine,
Or sleeting or hailing or snowing,
With me, the weather is fine!

If the mercury goes above ninety,
And it's muggy and humid today,
No matter how droopy I'm feeling,
I'll declare the weather's okay!

I don't prefer lousy weather,
Could do very well without it;
But since I can't have my druthers,
There's no use to holler about it.

Snowing, blazing or blowing,
In Summer, Winter or Fall,
Whatever kind we are having,
It's better than nothing at all!

To the Man who creates the weather,
I say, "You're doing just fine,
And I won't complain about your work
If you don't complain about mine!

Hominy Grits (1986)

I LIKE WINTER

Editor's note: "There are many things about winter that are beautiful and fascinating, but of course it depends on your vantage point!" Dad wrote as the introduction to this poem.

I like snow;
I love to hear
The north wind blow;
Not just a cold December breeze,
But really howling through the trees,
Like screaming, wailing
wild banshees.

I like the frost,
On door and window
Pane embossed;
And hung like garlands, clean and bright,
On fence and shrub, reflecting white;
Or ghostly in
The pale moonlight.

I like to see
The drooping branches
On a tree,
Bent down, to touch the ground below,
Each one transfixed into a bow,
By weight of heavy
Sodden snow.

I like the season,
For each above
Related reason;
Oh, yes, I love it, every minute
Have no complaints at all ag'in it,
If I don't have
To go out in it!

--Eighty After Eighty (1995)