Window of Snow Poem, by WIll mcgreal, at My poetic side

WINDOW OF SNOW

I fist the drapes out wide this morning

on my window on my world

the snowfall mechanical

and of single mind

uninterested in fancy or whim

unconcerned with where it falls

or what it claims

except to fall until it is over

until there is no more time to tell.

My job is to make the tea

and write in my book

and tap the hour glass of snow

and call out the names

of things left in my yard

as one thing becomes

shapeless like another

until there is nothing left to say

and there is nothing left

but the fallen snow

and the ring of trees

standing witness

offering their silent prayers.

Window of Snow