I
Windowpanes are frosted
In gooey, golden
Gingerbread glaze,
Dripping
to the carpet
In feather-down blankets
Onto the napping cat,
Thawing
her icicle whiskers,
Scorching winter�s frostbit fingertips.
II
Roasted
ice plunks
Into drains,
Digested by intestines
Of trees
That birth
buds
On branches cradled
By daybreak.
III
From thirsty
blossoms
Rabid bumblebees
Slurp sunlight,
Pouring into cracks
Of
dusty clay
And famished grain,
Leaning into the moist bluster
Of a
prowling storm.
IV
Squirrels scamper
As a chilly cloudburst
Drenches
the day
And the falling leaves,
Gathering in clusters
Under bare
oaks,
Awaiting the arrival
Of sunlight.
It's pretty obvious that I love description! And perhaps it has more meaning than at first glance. The poem is divided into four sections, one for each season beginning with winter and ending with autumn. Usually my poems never tend to carry a theme or message, but this poem generally is about cycles of life and the various wardrobes of nature. I guess it's just an observation.