Tags
Camelot, Coke, Emily Dickinson, Polar bear, postaweek2012, Snow, snowfa, snowhawk, snowplump, The Snow poem, winter
The Snow
It sifts from leaden sieves,
It powders all the wood,
It fills with alabaster wool
The wrinkles of the road.
It makes an even face
Of mountain and of plain, –
Unbroken forehead from the east
Unto the east again.
It reaches to the fence,
It wraps it, rail by rail,
Till it is lost in fleeces;
It flings a crystal veil
On stump and stack and stem, –
The summer’s empty room,
Acres of seams where harvests were,
Recordless, but for them.
It ruffles wrists of posts,
As ankles of a queen, –
Then stills its artisans like ghosts,
Denying they have been.
I lost the habit of winter until…
,,,,,,,,,
… today’s down-home charming surprise.
…………..
Fridge-cool and frosty, but not enough for a snow plump.
…………
Or a snow hawk.
………
or even a
…………..
But just enough for a snowfa.
Like the one the Coke polar bears chill on.
……..
Or this sui generis spot for a snowguy on Main Street in Beacon, N.Y. (photo by Russ Cusick)
CAMELOT
I love this song. It reminds me that of course Spring is almost upon us. We plant the peas on March 17th afterall!
Patty