Streams of black winding there way from here to there
cutting through a field of white
trees struggling with all their might against the soft white invader
as people stop and stare
cars turned into moving mounds of snow
people hurrying off to some secret place to go
the softness of sounds in the cold
this is winter to me
the sun a creates such a glare against the snow
your breath a frosty mist hanging in the air
people bundled up tight against the cold
eyes blinking against the white
the crunch of snow under a boot, the laughter of children
home from school, all decked out in their new snow suit
the far off drone of a snow blower says work is near
winter, in New England a time to hold dear
© JPM 1/20/09
A beautiful picture you have painted here, my friend. Well done...10..Best wishes Richard
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I do get mixed feelings about snow after reading your piece but, you have balanced the discomfort by pleasant homey scenes. distinct imagery. good write.