The frozen rain, angles in,
Stinging, unprotected skin,
Driven by relentless wind,
Running, slipping and falling down.
Where once was ground,
Is only mud and standing water.
The noise from parents, coaches
And their friends,
Win or lose, the parents are upset,
The children are just cold and wet.
Very nice and true
I saw a man,
All withered and bent,
With limbs atwist
And fingers clenched,
Into claws of flesh.
I wondered if,
When he was young,
His bones grew straight
Or if he walked erect,
With non curved spine?
Were the steps he took,
Both long and quick
And were his fingers supple?
I then further, wondered,
If on some future date,
I would also share his fate
And destiny, by becoming he.
Out of the west last night it came,
Filled with warmth and a little rain,
And on it's crest, as it swept by,
The noises rode on the wind up high.
The doors were pounded by a spirit hand
Asking admittance, with stern demand.
But in the morning, what did we see?
The snow had vanished from field and tree.
This was written by my Grandmother, Eva Fischer, a Pioneer woman,
born in Palouse City, Washington Territory. She was truly an inspiration
for me in developing an interest in verse.