In Praise of Snow

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When I was a boy it snowed in December.

Now it still snows sometimes,

always after the holidays,

when everyone has given up hope.

It snowed today.

It keeps on snowing:

waves of whipped cream on the rooftops,

marshmallow fluff everywhere else,

snow hiding the shame of concrete,

snow covering dust, covering dirt,

snow on wood: trees, fences, logs,

wonderful to behold.

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Snow laughing under your feet,

flirting with your eyelashes

snow tugging at your ears

reminding you you have a nose

snow blinding your eyes

keeping you outside.

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Snow teaches warmth:

the warmth of tea and hot soup

the gratitude of having a home

she teaches kids sledges and old folk falls,

window-gazing, too,

from a comfortable room.

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Snow is a virgin until she is not.

She is cold until she is warm,

smothering the earth,

so spring grass will seem greener

when it’s out.

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Is snow really white,

really cold,

or only what happens during the rest of the year

makes her so?

11 thoughts on “In Praise of Snow

  1. Dear poète, I love everything you say about the snow. So well said. Your writing is very visual, expressive and profound. A real pleasure to read your articles, your poetry. Thank you so much.

      1. When I was a kid I would get the biggest bowl in the house and scoop snow up, and use our leftover snow cone syrup from the summer to have a gigantic snow cone feast. Good stuff!!

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