System

The crows are out there cawing
as the storm begins to build
negating any thawing
that I wish I could've willed
but needs continue gnawing
with a lust that can't be killed
and every flake within my sight
is cursed with uttermost delight

but as they fall and settle
on my tiny patch of lawn
I dream about the petal
of a rose, a fragile fawn
which fortifies the mettle
of this unrepentant pawn
to handle what accumulates
with confidence the sun awaits

and will achieve ascension
when the angles are just right
relieving apprehension
and the shady grip of night
and need I even mention
the removal of this blight
that coats the camp of either side
as two opposing fronts collide.