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      July 13, 2009When There’s Frost Upon the PoniesD.W. Groethe

      When there’s frost upon the ponies
      an’ snow drift on the ground,
      an’ that yeller sun comes creepin’
      through the cedars all around,
      a feller gets to thinkin’
      maybe winter ain’t so bad,
      starts shuckin’ off the mem’ries
      of the blizzards that we’ve had.
      The squeakin’ an’ the crunchin’
      of yer boots on mornin’ snow,
      when dawn’s a-risin’ easy,
      an’ ol’ time’s a-movin’ slow,
      makes a feller sorta settled
      in the choices that he’s made.
      How he coulda wandered elsewhere,
      now, he’s mighty glad he stayed.
      Most folks don’t understand it,
      but he knows just what he’s found …
      when there’s frost upon the ponies
      an’ snow drift on the ground,
      an’ that yeller sun comes creepin’
      through the cedars all around.

      from #30 - Winter 2008

      D.W. Groethe

      “I have always lived and worked where there’s buttes, coulees and prairie. My poetry, I guess, is the written expression of that existence. To be honest, I don’t know why I write poetry. I really never think about it. It’s something I’ve done since I was seven or eight years old. For me, the ‘why’ isn’t nearly as important as the doing.”

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