As the Next Storm Churns
The soft texture of a flannel sheet,
May warm your bones as you sleep,
But given extra winds to blow,
The arctic breeze will numb your toes,
For all who dwell as Eskimos,
Burning ambers against the cold,
Can you see the reason for harsh times?
Freezing out disease and grime;
Mother Nature is no fool,
So we must live by her rule.
And as the next storm does churn,
Our wandering minds will live and learn.
Button down all the hatches,
Shutters, doors and what latches,
Do you see her eye come close?
She calmly stops to take a pose.