and then
it’s white
all the green and brown and red
of October
blanched with first snow
and a small pine branch has broken
off the tree and lies on the grass
all snowy
a little mound of twigs
like a small pyre
it would burn if match were lit
beneath
and then we could
sing
a farewell song to sun-warmed ground
modal harmonies
slowly descending
into sad sudden snow-washed winter
No comments:
Post a Comment