In Praise of Snow


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.


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.


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.


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.


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!!

  2. During a recent delicate snowfall, I found myself walking with my tongue out (child-like) tasting the snowflakes as they fell…your beautiful poem reminded me of this and more!

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