Franklin Street in December

Winter blew up hard from across the fields, now fallow,
Laid out like counterpane against the western shore
Of the broad, green Cumberland
As the river rolled northward up from Nashville
The waters drawing blood from the muddy murk
Working in from its collision with the Red River.
There, the snow fell heavily across the water and the winds flowed up
Around the eastern bluffs and the leafless grey oaks of Emerald Hill
And swirled frantically about us in an angry Winter waltz
Buffeting us cruelly as we stepped gingerly down Franklin Street
Past Good Wilson's shoppers, pulling our coats
More tightly, as we fought the pugilistic winds
To wind our way down the icy sidewalk to Aunt Mamie's
And the soft, genteel elegance and peace to be found
Wrapped within its red brick and limestone packaging,
Purple velvet and hard cherry chests,
The wind rapping frantically against the window panes
As we drank deeply from our cups of hot chocolate
And stared grimly out at the testament
Chiselled by the relentless December blow.