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Elegy Snow Poems | Elegy Poems About Snow

These Elegy Snow poems are examples of Elegy poems about Snow. These are the best examples of Elegy Snow poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Elegy | |

Son of War

The snow fell on bloody ground
turning the white to red, eating the silent
flakes till they disappeared into red dust.
The hand lay still...hopelessly bound
in death. Warm red snow was not meant
to melt and cover white life with lust.

No breath melted the blanket of white
dancing playfully on the mother's son
who lay coldly quiet 'neath nature's cover. 
He had wanted to stay...not feel the splice
of war...taking him beyond the red sun
atop the earth where the hawks hover.


Details | Elegy | |

Snow Angels

Twenty sets of footprints
scattered in the snow.
Twenty wings that flutter
as the breeze begins to blow.

Twenty peals of laughter,
Twenty toothless grins,
Twenty eyes that twinkle
as their journey begins.

Twenty desks left empty.
Million hearts that mourn.
Six will join to guide them,
unsung heroes born.

Twenty little angels
playing in the snow
dropping tiny snowflakes
on those who stayed below.


Details | Elegy | |

The hump-backed horse

With glass wings and hot manes of light,
The last hump-backed little horse white
With glass wings and hot manes of light,
The last hump-backed little horse white
gets himself in no time amber:
Hoofs`traces  in secret chamber;
Pale moon with bitter taste of grass 
with the transparent snow will pass
Just like the most luminous gift, 
written on the  joyous snow drift; 
My horse don`t give up the hard race 
of the night galloping grey days.
Incurable humility ,
bite your red lips, humanity !


Details | Elegy | |

Astroturf and Snow Part 2 of Trilogy

(Part 2 of Trilogy for My Father)

We stand on cemetery Astroturf
     strategically placed to spare us the dread hole,
     snow scaling the tops of our shoes
          to compete with the ice in our hearts.

The old priest’s boots peek from beneath
     a cassock that dangles below his parka.
He jokes gamely about the weather,
     reading prayers for my father, a man he never met,
     with shaking hands and chattering teeth.
He is a stranger recruited by the others lest someone
     discover the shame of self-inflicted death.

Numb in every way it’s possible to be numb,
     we await the blows of a grief that suicide denied us
     and summon memories that refuse to respond 
     while, in its place, we have 
Astroturf
and snow.