Thursday, December 25, 2008

December 22, 2008

Even the sky is heavy with snow;
it is Monday morning,
but you wouldn't know
it; the world is low,
and heavily asleep,
weighed down by
two feet of sleet.

On every roof, a foot of icing,
on every bough, a cross section slicing
the snow through its five days' route,

and there on every single branch,
the setup for a miniature avalanche.

1 comment:

Gribbit said...

Loverly poem. And an absolutely gorgeous holly picture that you added to your blog.