I'm in the poetry mood

Daughter

She is like the winter wind
Always poking and probing
For a weakness
A way in

And she is now afraid of the wind
Ever since it blew her plastic fire helmet off her head and
The stack of books off the roof of the car
In one day

It is still fall
But despite the occasional seventy degree day
Winter is on its way

With branches delicately painted white
A blanket covering the ground
And the threat of black fingers and toes hanging heavily in the air