In the Summer I am forgotten,
Misplaced, or abused,
Standing in a dusty corner,
Waiting for my debut.
Hearing a range of young and old
Boastful activities in the yard.
People may come and people may go,
But show me no regard.
Changing, is the temperature,
Getting cooler every night.
Outside noises, now seldom,
As yellow leaves take flight.
I hear the distinct drag of the rake, the ring
Of young play and laughter,
It shouldn’t be much longer now,
And I’ll be the one sought after.
Days become a peaceful silence
As the long nights there before.
The air, so crisp and bitter cold,
My time will come for sure.
Then all at once, the door flings open,
A gloved hand reaches inside.
Flooding in, a light so white,
Can’t see for being flashed blind.
Time has finally come; my calling,
With a forceful shove and huff.
It feels good to bend and stretch,
Three seasons, all cooped up.
When my work is all but done,
For a short time to pass,
I’m propped up outside by the door,
To watch Winter in it’s vast.
For a limited time, between use,
I greet all who come and go.
The vibrant spirit of youthful children,
Gleefully playing in deep snow.
Excitement overwhelms me now,
For this makes the wait worth while.
I now get to see the world around me,
Leaning back with a smile.
But, I know this feeling is temporary,
Like the winds, seasons change.
Temperatures will rise, snow will melt,
Green leaves bud out again.
I’ll be set back in my corner,
Behind closed door I’ll stay.
Until once again, three seasons pass,
And Winter comes our way.
To some, Winter is most miserable,
Cold and darkness plagues.
Others enjoy all outdoor activities,
Only Winter can portray.
You may be asking for my reason,
I’ll say, strait up and level.
Winter, the only favored season,
If you are a Snow Shovel.


J.G.W.
3/6/09