The month matters not
When poetry surfaces
From my subconscious
In February
Ice whispers my name—“Jimmy”
“Skate,” it beckons, “with Nature.”
Though July's heat melts
The single-scooped ice cream treat
Hockey's time is nigh
Pros, they do prepare
For this upcoming season
To materi’lize
So now I reflect
Upon mid-winter mornings
Spent on frozen ponds
1 comment:
Good one, Jim!
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