The blessed intersection of two of my great loves — poetry and extreme cold weather conditions (writing about them, not being in them!) has produced this rather clunky poem! I couldn't help myself.
The Polar Vortex
Twas the day of the vortex, and all through the town
Folks huddled in blankets and long dressing gowns
The children were happy and thought it was cool
That safety prevailed and cancelled all school.
Cool it was, to be sure, in fact it was frigid
Things that bend in fine weather now were quite rigid
The taps that had given us hot water galore
Now were iced up, and gave us no more.
Furnaces burned and chimneys they smoked
As we tried to keep warm with the fires we stoked
Ovens were lit and cookies were made
Though some stayed in bed and there they remained.
The sun it shone bright but gave off no heat
The white misty haze on the windows was neat
Breath the cold air rapidly captured
And turned into ice which fell and then fractured.
And even though snow lay deep on the ground
No snowballs were thrown, no snowmen were found
For the arctic blast had turned it all hard
Each snowflake now sharp as hexagonal shards.
Thank goodness the birds have all flown away South
And squirrels and chipmunks all stuffed their mouths
With nuts they had saved when the food was a-plenty
Now that the wind chill’s become minus twenty.
Tomorrow we’ll return to weather more seasonal
When highs of freezing will seem more reasonable
In the meantime be sure to wrap up all tight
So your extremities don’t fall off with frostbite!