Snow
It is not the dark, I tell you.
It is this wretched winter
That sits so heavily on my mind.
I hate it.
I hate it because it brings snow.
That white blanket
Smothering all it covers.
The plants, the bees
Their cries muffled
So we can't hear
Their dying sounds.
Each time I look out my
Window and see snow
Falling heavily on the ground,
I think of its deception.
What looks so beautiful
And pure can kill.
We despair its lack at Christmas,
This that knocks down power lines
And makes babies freeze.
How can I sleep?
How can I be happy
When snow deadens
Footfall on the ground?
-srw
poetry angst
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