Snow Poem by Mark Heathcote
Snow
There it is. Kids, blanket white
crisp as salt; on the blade of a stainless-steel knife.
Fresh-as-a-daisy lit, by the morning sun-
Melting like a honeycomb,
over a world that's just newly begun.
(In-the-kneading-of a steady grip, just-throw-it.)
Knead it, kids, till the evening's dark; throw it
…throw it at the passing cars, the stars
and see if it won't stick.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 1:17:22 PM # 1.0.0.1119
