Storm Howl – a poem

In words of frost at midnight the storm spoke

To me, tales in hoar crystals that rime my beard,

Sharp wonderment diminished by cold, purity

Guaranteed by temperature hyperboreal tangible

And by surprise visit, a demon in flakes howling.


All that is wished for need not ever be granted

To even those most fervent in their devotion,

The difference not made up for lack of trying,

Deficiencies defied against perceived need,

Lies in the storm, the rush of pure howls.



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