Snowstorm After Sunset Poem by Obinna Kenechukwu Eruchie

The sun dim in its blaze, is trite
to persevere in its dear fight
to hang on to the sky, sets quite
earthward like a down-sloping kite;
dark to th' land, its grave did invite.

Arrives the countless toothed plight,
from whom furs, plums, scales perceive bite.
Like a mind infernous to smite,
the stony hoary force strikes tight
to agonise the space with spite.

Like a colossal silver sprite
furious with fire from the cloud's height,
winter's wind moves in gruelling might
with icy rage restless in flight.
Peace survives, storm's harshness despite.

Its flakes of milk in sizes slight;
those crystals blazing in moonlight;
those small chips resting, icing white
moors, vales, hills, other every sight-
in snow-coat, the landscape is dight.

Its frost oozing presence, the blight
that positions the hug of fright
on the homeless souls, who outright
wish a hearth, a home of fire bright
to heavenly soothe warm their night.