Winter 


Three Takes on Snow
 
1.  More Snow
 
There’s nothing to be said about falling snow
that hasn’t been said a million times before,
the powdered sugar on vast nature’s cake,
the dandruff of an unforgiving god
shaking out his flakes for heaven’s sake.
 
Lovers love it, but the rest of us,
barring kids with undeveloped minds,
would keep it at the poles where it belongs.
My socks feel wet to think of it outside.
Save it for the schmaltz of Christmas songs.
 
You skiers there, what must you think of me,
dismissing what you love so under foot?
Sacrilege up with which you will not put?
To back me up, the sun is coming out
to melt, I hope, the useless stuff away.
 
Snow is best left just to think about.
 
2.  On the Other Hand…
 
The far field, ironed out in white—
the last field in the autumn to be mowed—
shows little stubble where it snowed.
Clean-shaven. In all, a pleasant sight.
 
3.  Vorfrühling
 
A taste of spring and nothing more;
the wind that whistles past the house is cold.
Compared to recent days, the air,
the color of the fields in muted gold—
 
the snow, so tempting to dismiss—
that is, if you ignore the stubborn sweep
of white the hills hold onto. Still,
the season’s harsh denial will not keep.

Don Wheelock

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If you have any thoughts about this poem,   Don Wheelock    would be pleased to hear them.