It was March in the Texas woods,
Then suddenly rolling thunder,
Mitey, the pot-bellied pig
Rooted for warmth down under.
Tornados sited, none fell down,
Wind came in a twisting bluster,
We huddled the night in cabins,
Woke to ground covered with luster.
Through the dark night life had changed
Snow was an inch or two thick,
What I recall about those days
Stuck in, the roads were too slick
So I sat on an old wicker porch chair
In the front of Cabin three
One courageous little daffodil
Stood tall in the snow, smiling at me.
© By Norma (Twi1ite@sbcglobal.net)