UGH!

This may be the best opportunity, in what remains of our Midwestern Winter, to post this poem. The forecast for tonight is 3-5 more inches of snow, and for now at least, I'm feeling like this poor desicated little leaf:

Last Leaf

One withered leaf still clings to its barren branch,
Though winter’s wind is harsh and frigid cold
Should free the fragile stem’s tenacious grasp.
What keeps it clutching to a lifeless limb,
When its green and supple beauty is long gone?
Perhaps the memory of its verdant past,
Or fear of the uncertainty to come.

© DJB, 2004