A Snowflake?

A Snowflake?

There was a snowflake that fell

On my nose without a smell

Cross-eyed I did look

It trembled and shook

It found a new place to dwell.

The snowflake began to squirm

It wriggled like a worm

It began to slip

Down to my lip

A snowflake I can’t confirm.

The thing began to tickle

Feeling kind of fickle

I blew in the air

Without a care

I seem to be in a pickle.

It came down in flight

What a beautiful sight

Unlikely weather

For snowflake not feather

A message on wings of white.

“Feathers appear when Angels are near.”

This is the poem I wrote for my mother, whom just lost her husband of sixty years. This is her Christmas present. I told her I’d write one that wouldn’t make her cry and I’m hoping I succeeded. I also put in the envelope a white feather. 
Comments are much appreciated. 

Pss. 91:4 “He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler.”

Poetry Sunday ~ Angel's Flight

Ex. 23: 20 Behold, I send an Angel before thee, to keep thee in the way, and to bring thee into the place which I have prepared.

***
Angels Flight
***
In the midst of it all,
in a puddle knee high,
the pain is holding me,
seething, I cry.

In the midst of it all
as angels gather ‘round.
the snow it whispers
nary a sound.

In the midst of it all
while men remain sleeping.
I slowly gain strength,
no longer weeping.

In the midst of it all
as they pass me by
the Lord is my power
with Him I’ll fly.

In the midst of it all
as Christmas draws near
time to embrace
the things we hold dear.

In the midst of it all
in the still of the night.
I gather my faith
as my wings take flight.

Poetry Sunday:The Yearly Visit...

Is.40:31 But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.

***

Yearly Visit: The Sandhill Crane
(c) Joni Zipp
***
The fields are alive with murmuring sound
I see the crane ever dancing around
They stand, they sit, all over the place.
like a babbling brook with a stony face.

When one takes flight they all follow suit
to the skys they twine with a bellowing hoot
Flapping, grappling on awkward stilts
painting the sky in patchwork quilts.

A new field awaits their homely roost
giving their journey a relieving boost
A stop in Nebraska just passing through,
Visitors pay homage to this sandhill crew.

Finding the sanctuary a yearly reprieve
until they decide to leap and leave.
Journey’s end to their timely stay
The sandhill crane must now fly away. 
All rights reserved: copyright © Joni  Zipp