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Flurry of Frozen Fury
Anna K., Portland, OR

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By David V., Clarkston, MI

The hailstorm blew
Westward?
However irrelevant it was
To the angry lashes it made
Across the rosy face
It bit small pieces
Of feeling away
Its frigidity
Stirred
A buzzing sensation
On the permeable pores
Causing them
To give in
Surrender
To the army of never-ending white
A crease crassly
Crested
On his weathered brow
A secondary thought
Spread Swiftly
To his chapped lips
Curling curtly into a
Comfortable Curve
He turned back to the door
Felt the welcoming warmth
Spun
Speedily and
Retreated
Another day
Perhaps
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