Ornery Winter,
flabby arms across his chest,
sulkily sits
atop his termite throne.

Spring politely cajoles.
Perhaps it’s time to move on?

Winter won’t budge.

She bribes him
with sweet-scented blossoms
and gentle caressing breezes.

He’s tempted,
but digs in his heels.

Finally
Summer storms in
with intense heat
and a legion of thunderous clouds.

Buffeted on all sides,
Winter sighs
and heaves his heavy frame
skyward.
Without a farewell
he plods away
like a resigned tortoise
in search of peace.

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November PAD: Day 8


For today’s prompt, take the phrase “________ of the ________,” replace the blanks with a new words, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem.