Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Rusty Nail on Snow

Jagged, crooked, one-inch long
an old rusty snuggles into
a blanket drained of color
looping loosely
around the flagstone path.

From her looks, to demystify,
did the nail ever have a life?
Possibly yes, while bright, coquettish
holding things together,
with success to be hers if she wished.

Soon, a slow wind wheezes
through the trees with a sigh,
and white flakes--silent, proud
in series of freeze frames--
shroud her in reply.


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Prompt: snow