Solstice Ploy
It’s cold beneath the fallen leaves
the worms slow wriggle falls to sleep
the tartan now a yellowed sash
consumed by winter’s icy creep
the rustle in the leaves just wind
as squirrels wrap their tails around
cold noses and an acorn stash
beneath a hawks now distant sound
Oh snow, cold snow, your carpet white
reflects the sun’s now timid stance
the darkness of your glaring light
the sharpened point of Winter’s lance
thus, do we wait on Solstice ploy
thus, do we hold to season’s joy
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