Weather, the cruel master
If I had never made the fatal error,
letting my brother know I didn't want to write outside,
I mightn't be locked out.


The chill is fierce, it touches bone.
When the writing is done, I will be home.
Inside the heated indoor cove!
Oh, how I wish to sit near the stove.


He locked me out! That rascal there!
A-sitting in the comfy chair!
"But for the good" of me right here.
The words of his did reach my ear.


Oh sunny chill it fills the air,
lessening summer’s hearty glare.
Woe! In the frosty morning chill,
the birds have all fled from their hill.


The leaves have touched upon the ground.
Landing there without a sound
And in the bushes, once stout and glad,
the branches bare of leaves once had.


The summer’s gone.
It’s time was had.
While winter ever becomes glad.
And wraps us all in icy grip.


Oh, cometh spring to free the land
Of ice’s grip, it’s cold cruel hand.