Antiquated Lady’s Bout with a Blizzard
An old lady sat near a window, near a window looking out.
As her radio was going she sat there sewing, with an occasional look about.
On her thumb she wore a thimble, as she pulled the thread so nimble, enjoying the light.
But the weatherman’s voice was blaring, declaring a storm in sight.
“Partly cloudy with some showers, in the early morning hours today.
A falling barometer will drop the thermometer causing some dismay.”
She began to hurry, and to worry about her Sam.
Had he heard the early morning warning from the weatherman?
While she sat there stewing, the storm greater brewing, she thought about her man.
“He could work much longer, if only he was stronger— he does the best he can.”
Her heart flounced as the radio announced, “Cold air aloft.”
Clouds formed a cluster and the wind began to bluster. “Sam would only scoff.”
The skies grew darker and her thoughts grew starker in the afternoon.
“Upper air disturbance; expect turbulence with night coming soon.”
While she debated, the storm accelerated from the north.
With clouds unloading her thoughts grew foreboding, as she paced back and forth,
And orally expressed her qualms of duress about her Sam.
“Was he wet and freezing? Was he cold and sneezing? Poor old Sam!”
The northern air was gusting as she began thrusting shut the door,
From freezing rain fast falling, while for Sam she was calling as she paced the floor.
Back at the weather station a strange situation was spreading forth.
Not very far away an arctic foray pushed down from the north.
It hardly took a wizard to see the shaping blizzard hiding every star,
As a whirling cloud formation showed its concentration on the isobar.
The lady antiquated never hesitated to switch on the outside light,
Concerned about her spouse missing the house, as he searched in the night.
The wind was fierce and blowing as it started snowing through the open door,
Which she had opened, hoping Sam was standing there before.
Suddenly she started walking, while talking to her Sam.
Once she stopped to listen, ignoring the snow that glistened— then she ran.
She must’ve been unsightly as the lights shown on her brightly from a car,
Driven by her daughter, doing things she taught her, searching near and far.
“Mother! It’s me, Mabel. You know you’re not able to be out in the cold!
Look how hard it’s snowing with the wind so cold and blowing. Forgive me if I scold.
Finding you not there, I looked everywhere—and up and down the street.
You’ve come too far, so get in the car and dry your feet.”
“Mabel . . . Pa went out this morning . . . but he had no warning the weather would be severe.”
“Oh, my mother dear, please come here, come here. Dad’s been gone a year!”
Suddenly the old lady was weary, her eyes old and bleary, her body weak and cold.
She had no coat nor jacked, but in her hand a packet—Sam’s picture she did hold.
