Thirty-Five Degrees

The drizzle sideways from the bluster
Playing triangles with the ground.
Long ago this lost its luster
It only serves to maim and fluster
The colors that this autumn found.
Mutes are all left in a cluster
Trodden that they make no sound
When stepped upon. I cannot muster
The logic that this went around.

And as the precipitation fatter
Finds its way to swirl the street
It escalates from pitter-patter
As the frosts inquires, “What’s the matter?
Since when do ice and water meet?”
The rain slides quickly down the ladder,
And punches frost so as to greet.
The crystal fades, the earth grows sadder
And it at last gives way to feet.

Fickle temperature oscillates
Gives way to water, then to ice,
It beguiles them both with hopeful fates
But in the end it denigrates.
As if for fun that would suffice.
As if they both were given gates
That they could never traverse twice,
As if capricious weather hates
Them both for not quite being nice.

And though I say I would despise
The paradox in freezing rain,
I cannot help but realize
That though it brings the frost demise,
It also can fall prey to pain.
The promises, the whispered lies,
The coaxing that the breeze can feign,
I see it all before my eyes,
But they are blinded save their gain.

Unpublished Material, ©2010 Cali Digre