Winter's Grasp

In the hush of winter’s chill,

Potholes lurk with a stealthy thrill,

Masked in frost, a hidden snare,

Beneath the snow, they wait with care.

Black ice glistens, a treacherous sheet,

A dance of caution beneath our feet,

Slipping shadows in the pale moonlight,

A reminder of nature's quiet bite.

Dead batteries hum a muted song,

In the silence where things go wrong,

Cars sit dormant, their spirits waned,

As winter’s grip leaves many strained.

Wires hang low, downed by the weight,

Of icy fingers that seal their fate,

A crackle, a pop, then silence reigns,

In a world where warmth has lost its claim.

Frozen pipes, like veins of stone,

Hold secrets of warmth, now overthrown,

A drip, a drop, a desperate plea,

For the thaw of spring, to set them free.

Yet in this season, stark and bare,

There’s beauty found in frosty air,

In every challenge, a tale unfolds,

Of winter’s grasp and the courage it holds.

 The Vineyard Invasion

Texas Governor Abbott

Had a nasty habit

Of shipping out illegals

To the land of bluest liberals.

Obama and Kerry could have lent a hand

by pitching tents on their waterfront land

But The locals were aghast

And the Governor had to act fast.

So Healey came down hard

By calling out the National Guard.

So the tension did rise

In the land of the prize

So the invading fifty

Were acted on swiftly

So find a new location

Far away from the rich on vacation

So the locals who were terrified

Were appeased by hypocrisy personified

Phil Gallagher