Tuesday, January 7, 2014

POEM: Morning Walk

Morning Walk

Snow fell, fell all night.
Now, no bird can tell
its perch. Each pine
is papered white
as birch. Out ahead
on our path, a cloud
of frozen vapor cast
up by a gust, itself
a snow-shape, hides
our whole woodpile
and falls a frigid dust
as snow fell, all night.

©2014 Steven Withrow, all rights reserved