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» Articles » Garden Stories » THOUGHTS WHILE SCRAPING THE WINDSHIELD

THOUGHTS WHILE SCRAPING THE WINDSHIELD

by Douglas L. Bishop on 1/6/2013 12:06


I see the ice, the ice sees me.
The ice and I do not agree,
On what its purpose here should be….
A source of mirth or misery?

Unwelcome ice is oh so rude,
No social grace does it exude.
A slave to science, ice intrudes
When Fahrenheit says 32.

Beneath my blade, ice breathes a “hiss”
The sound of winter’s weariness.
But ice will change its attitude,
When springtime brings a better mood.

The kind of ice that I prefer,
Is nicer ice that I can stir,
Into my frosty summer drink,
The kind of ice that just says “clink!” 




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