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Tamara Hillman. Click the Next or Previous links below the poem to navigate between poems. Remember, Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth. Thank you.
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The signs are all around me—
skies are suddenly gray-white,
and I smell snow is coming,
maybe on this very night…
What is this ambiance of awe
when viewing those first flakes
swirling softly t’ward the earth—
a white blanket soon to make?
It’s not as tho’, these many years,
I’ve not witnessed this same scene—
snow piling high on field and trees,
and grass no longer green.
There is no explanation
for the pleasure I now feel
as I listen to this old house creak,
and think it no big deal.
The warmth and coziness inside
is multiplied ten-fold,
and I treasure it above those things
bought with purest gold.
Each flake serves such purpose
as it tumbles to the ground
covering seeds and crops to yield
while making nary a sound.
Protection from the temperatures
dipping way down low—
snow insulating ground from frost
spread liberally e’re it goes.
And I, like many others,
who endure long months of snow,
get weary of it later on
when it curtails where I go.
But oh, thru’ frosted window pane
reflecting fireplace glow,
it fills my heart with wonder,
as I welcome the first snow.