Snow

Snow

by Gideon Burton

It is a shaken spice, a moist and sweet 

relief to slake the blandness of our souls.

It is a heavy ripened grain, the wheat

that in the ether grows until we’re whole. 

It is the feathers of our mothers’ prayers 

returned fulfilling which the angels shred 

as gossamer, as grace redundant, layers 

of frozen time as we lay still in bed.

It is the cracking of the darkest sky,

soft meteors, the billion stars descend;

all victims cease from aching, asking why

the dirt, the noise, the gross confusion ends.
    What had been frozen thaws beneath its coat;

    what weary, rests, while worries grow remote.

Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr -  bridgetmckenz