Winter Poem by Matthew Foor

White fluff donning rooftops
Coming down like
Heaven's frozen tears
Nothing untouched

A church stands steadfast
Green peaks atop tan brick
An old world look

Street lights become beacons
When the whiteout begins
Cars still fly by
No worries for the weather

Everyone hurries
While black ice looms under tires
The deadliest of winter's gifts

Sheets of snow
Slide from awnings on store fronts
Creating a perfect day for one lucky person

Curbs cupping dirty slush
Created by filthy underbodies
Break dust
And leaky oil pans

Yet overnight
A new layer laid
Everything bright white
When morning comes

Until morning comes