Rain over snow

wet over cold

you know

the feel of a great frigid drop

down your collar

on your back.

The chill

is not exhilarating

on this grey day;

not like a snowball fight

with hand-packed powder

exploding on your face,

or a bumpy ride

down your favorite slope

dodging trees and landing

in a heap

of flailing arms

and tangled feet.

Today

there is no play

beneath this damp

and constant drear.

Oh, my spirit!

How this weary winter weather weighs;

like corruption,

like deception.

Hour by hour

from digital skies

pours the steady shower

of human lies.

Today

there is no play

before this dread

and constant fear

as though some ancient city is crouching near

and we should resist and flee

and not look about.

Where once stood a figure fashioned ,

fully plump and jolly,

now leans a faceless, shrinking form

forlorn;

(Does it mock this people in their folly?)

the man of snow

to

a pillar of salt

transformed.