Growing up, I heard the old ones talk about The Winter of the Deep Snow.

It happened in the early 1900’s on the east coast of Canada and for 6 weeks the farmers had to travel from house to barn from the 2nd storey windows.

The potential for madness must have been palpable. The isolation. The claustrophobia. The fear. They were still talking about it 60 years later.

I have a cat who loves going outdoors and is experiencing snow for the first time which is seemingly having a similar effect on her.

The Madness in the surrounding homes however has nothing to do with last night’s snowfall.

The boredom overtook him… Near the Isle of Bras d’or.

He wished upon a falling star, but no one knew what for.

The snow fell high upon the land, the spirits they grew low.

The booze ran out before the food, and the restlessness did grow.

The Wolf’s heart it grew weary. So he headed for the door.

He headed out into a storm, off of the Isle of Bras d’or.

The Wolf he kept on walking, through the snow and through the pain.

He wasn’t going back he knew, with no reasons to explain.

Sometimes these things just go that way, no one knows what for.

The Wolf he left the pack behind, near the Isle of Bras d’or.

The cold came from the northland. The heat comes from piped steam.

We were huddled back into the quilts. Where some words faded to a dream.

There was beach and sand and seagulls. Fishermen grimaced at their nets.

A sound that made me homesick. And another that I forgets.

I’m trapped here in this city. Not as young as I used to be.

If I ever get out of here. You will find me by the sea.

Made the choice between worse and bad. You are not the worst I’ve ever had…

I made the choice tween bad and worst. You’re just the last one; I think of first.

You are nothing special in a world of pain. You just smile sweetly and take again.

There is something sweet that I have found. I feel so much better with you not around.

Love was not a road to happy.

A mistake for sure, by me

The path showed what I could take.

If I could only see.

I am going to take the high road.

There’s a lesson here to learn.

I now know my own business.

Deep down those bridges burn.

The line formed past the blue coats.

Pain and failure filled the eyes .

No more love or time outs.

No more try, we’ve said goodbyes.

The train had had left the station.

We are lining up in court.

The judge has heard it all before.

All these failures to report.

There is hope on the horizon.

There are dreams we might attain.

I’ve made my bed, I’m lying low.

I’m too wise to try again.

There is bad blood walking down that road, with a stride of discontent.

Something bad is in the water here, and the money’s all been spent.

The business men and lawyers have no more dividends to cash.

They’ve scraped the bottom dry and clean. Leaving bad blood and a rash.

The spirits have come calling, say there’s not much left to do.

Or in my dreams I heard a voice, “Out of bad blood beauty grew.”

It was a quiet celebration, and no one rang the bell.

I mostly sat there smiling, alone while silence fell.

There was something of a rumor; though whispers seldom choose.

No one knew what I could know, and loose lips sometimes lose.

I like the taste of chocolate. Pride goes before the fall.

I’m thinking how I almost drowned in that sea of alcohol.

Fate has shone her blessings, no luck, good or bad is cure.

I’ve got that shiny gift it seems, that faith and love endure.

It’s either joy or sadness.

It’s either win or lose.

Success is guaged by failure.

Lost love begats the blues.

I thought she raised suspicions, by the look in that man’s eyes.

He scanned her features slowly, as if  disseminating lies.

Her look was drunk obnoxious; She said, “I ain’t hurt no one!”

His look suggested he’d had enough, enough to send her on the run.

Now the room returned to quiet. Except the printers rhythmic hum.

I folded up the forms for court, and cashed out the proper sum.