Waking

Tell me that my eyes are dreaming

As I look up from my nighttime rest

The snow that lies upon the rooftop

Can’t be surely what it’s seeming.

I thought that this was not to be

Until the festive season passed

And winter’s fury would be tempered

In this valley by the sea.

But nature will not be controlled

We suffer what it has to offer

Good or bad will be our fate

Be it wet or not or hot or cold.