Arctic Uprisings
The days and nights in their endless calm,
Nestled into Mother Nature’s palm,
Are sound asleep in the immobile air,
A listless hovering without a care.
Peace is too quiet and beauty too soft,
With no stirring or commotion aloft,
December’s air is in its abnormal state,
A respite before the oncoming quake.
Arctic uprisings with their vigilant eyes,
Sitting at home in the deep northern skies,
Drifting southward with ice in their veins,
Add winter’s spice to the post autumn rains.
Lo and behold, a new sighting from the storm,
A blanket of snow one early December morn’.
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