The snow today should not have come as a surprise- there's been plenty weather forecasters warning us that it was coming. This poem came on the tail of a wintry blast.
VOICE OF
WINTER.
I regret I've not yet done
and must
leave a clean slate.
From a
blizzard of snow and hail
I'll scour
shoulders of granite
scrub
boulders of gneiss
scrape
stonecrop off stones
soak moss
from its hosts.
Lustre to
lochs needs frost
but to
tidy leaves I'd want help.
The North
wind will do that,
chill-blow
them to heaps,
let sleet
shift snow from peaks.
I've
feather dusted daffodils
trying to
trumpet Spring's here
and will
write white on bold petal gold
Winter's
not done yet, I regret.
No comments:
Post a Comment