Blankets

By G. E. Shuman

The rains poured down to soak the streets,
And puddles brimmed with plopping drops.
Wide fields were gorged with melting snow;
Earth blankets soaked for spring-time crops.

Then soon we walked on summer’s beach,
And watched the waves ‘til nearly night.
The sand they kissed, and churned and breached,
Stretched out, a blanket, pristine white.

One closer day, as evening loomed,
With popcorn bowls and movie time.
Our early autumn chill-filled rooms,
Brought blankets of a different kind.

“Can you get the throw?” Mom asked,
As Emi found her favorite show.
Both cuddled on the couch, at last,
Quite blanketed from head to toe.

And leaves fall down, in fall… to ground,
To hide the grass, from wind-tossed heights.
They warm the earth, while rustling down.
A brittle blanket for long nights,

That pour as if from ashen sacks,
And stretch to dawn from afternoon.
A blanket drawn in inky black;
A backdrop hung for winters’ moons.

One dawn soon breaks; we peer outside,
And squint our eyes in sparkling light.
Cold wind-waves kiss, and churn, and breach,
Another blanket, pristine white.

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