A Late Start on a Cold Day

I watched the day go from black to gray,
Through my window, rimed with frost;
And my hands felt old and stiff with cold,
From the heat they both had lost.

In the streetlight's glow, the blowing snow
Cast shadows upon the glass;
The umbras curled as snow danced and whirled,
As they traveled on -- en masse.

The moving storm sapped what little warm
I had, and drew it forth;
It sucked the heat from my naked feet,
And sent it winging North.

I knew full day was an hour away,
The West wind howled with dread.
I whirled around at that eerie sound,
And I shuffled back to bed.

I jumped right back in my rumpled sack,
A nest both soft and warm;
As I found my place in such sweet embrace,
I forgot about the storm.

The piercing light of a morning bright,
Sparkled through my window pane;
Shining on my clock, which gave me a shock:
I had over-slept again!

I prepared my ruse, an old excuse:
My road had snow drifts high!
Then my hopes were dashed, my lie was smashed --
As I heard the plow go by.

Mick McKellar
January 2022

I've lost count of how many times I crawled back into bed on a wintry morning, falling in love with the warmth and comfort of my bed, only to wake late and have to hurry to shovel or scoop the drive and get to work on time.

Mick