Harsh winter’s wind blew icy chill
Across the meadow, o’er the hill;
But, warm beneath my fleecy sheet,
I fell asleep despite the sleet.
As frozen drops hit windowpanes,
A-tap, tap, tapping came the rains
In ever-growing fits of noise
That no amount of will destroys.
A nightmare threat’ning to progress
Kept slowly building fearful stress;
Each sound, more menacing in tone,
Drove growing fear of things unknown.
No logic met my fitful sleep
For terror’d crept inside too deep.
Attempting yet to seek escape,
I scratched and clawed and screamed and scraped.
Beyond the point of no return
Where light of day must surely burn,
May’s spring awaits the daffodils
And I shall win this war of wills.