Pine Cone

This is no tiny pinecone
that forecasts wet or dry,
This one fell from a tall Scot's Pine
whose branches stroke the sky.

It won't predict a shower
or a slightly warmer day
This cone talks weighty weather,
not breezes on the way.

It's heavy and it's massive;
barely fits inside my palm.
It's a time-bomb, tightly folded
that, at present, says it's calm.

But this big cone means business,
it's heavy duty, so
Expect, when it starts moving,
a hurricane, although

It might predict a blizzard,
an avalanche, at least;
This pine cone deals in
lightning, a tornado weather-beast.

Don't drop it; never throw it,
it's a living hand-grenade,
So gently sing it lullabies,
a soothing serenade.

Rest it on the window-sill,
and tiptoe as you pass,
That way, expect a heatwave,
and enjoy it while it lasts.

poem © Celia Warren 2011

Thank you so much for all your kind comments on yesterday's blip, and your good wishes for the newlyweds, who, I just noticed, hit the spotlight page! Spent much of today sorting the 100s of pics I took (digital photography does encourage madness!) and it's taking ages to downsize and edit them. Still, it's keeping me busy!

Went for a walk, too (hence the pine cone), and got home just as the rain started. Phew!