Flurries

Flurries are but little spurts,
Of snow...where moisture spills.
The eruption of a cloud,
That bears down from the hills.

Flurries are of quick descent,
With mists...all magic ringed.
As flakes maneuver in a dance,
So gay...and feather winged.

Flurries are the forces,
Of action...before a lull.
The coming in from lofty heights,
Of a silver-throated gull.

Flurries are but sudden,
Gusts...of ice and cold.
Like the bursting forth of words,
No tongue can hold.

Flurries are but moments,
Of disturbances...and strife.
The bits of opposition,
That makes the storms of life.

E.P. 1908 - 1989