(This one actually won an honorable mention for non-rhyming poem in a Writer’s Digest Competition.)
Southern Storm
You missed the snow.
The flakes sped by my window,
carried by the
quick wind of out
quick Southern Winter.
Small delicate feathers
of ice, unwelcome,
for the South hates
snow, hates cold,
hates anything
that is not hot, moist, heat.
The snow like down
escaped from a fancy pillow
let looks by a childish
fight between gods
of the North and the South.
You missed the snow.
All that is left
is the damp tattered
remains of
Winter