Whilst sitting upon a snowflake I ponder
come this November to never forget
the summer wears are all stored within
the small log cabin by a big misty lake.
My arms and hands so worn and rough
filling and moving the barrels of cider
blustery cold winds makes my eyes tear
the old horse slows only to cross the river.
The walking stick deep within fresh snow
wood fire feels good, as flakes melt away
the feeling now returns to toes and fingers
winter shook us all upon a day this autumn
as democrats fight during the winter’s blast,
republican’s scheme in their coolish dream
those shadowed hands stuff ballot boxes full
and liars now show as the cold winds blow.
Whilst I sit upon a snowflake and ponder
a November’s cold and uncertain tomorrow
feeling contrite within this evenings twilight
during the coolish days of autumn’s wake.
Ken Allan Dronsfield is a published poet from Oklahoma. He loves thunderstorms! His published work can be found in reviews, journals, magazines and anthologies throughout the web and in print venues. His poetry has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net for 2016. His book The Cellaring is available now from CTU Publishing.