Rain Storm In Winter

The aura of the oak
is ice and silver sheen.

This is the season of snow,
but there is only cold rain
in heavy ringlets of wet.

We feel the chill
of this antique place,
yet for now, snow abstains
as skies burn ripe with gray ash
that scatters to the wand of wind.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2006

Poem

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