The Sound of Snow
It is winter;
The snow
Is filtering
From the clouds.
Serene,
Tranquil,
And
Gentle snow:
You are a sonata
Upon my ears.
You are a melody
Perfected
Through stillness:
You resemble
An aged
Cello
With a bow,
Played
Like the wood
Of a tree
Ripened with
Sweet
Deliberation.
Your sound
Of perfection,
Peace
And
Silence
Is like a
Lake:
Cooled with
Welded
Ice.
For the ice
Covers the water
Resting,
For another season:
Just like
The grass,
You so delicately
Cover:
Resembling
That of a blanket –
One that
Loves,
Like that of
A horse-drawn
Carriage
Within the dead
Of a cold
Winter’s
Night.
The coach
Is gliding
Along a trail;
A trail
Of perfect ground:
It is of a million
Particles
Of the earth –
So natural,
So steadfast.
Yet the dirt
Of this trail,
Is no longer upon
Your loving
Bedspread:
For
It is a
Dream:
Recycled
By the wheels
Of your carriage
Like the snow
Ever falling
From the dark
Night
Sky.
For the cabin
Suspended ever so
Gently
Upon its wheels,
Carries
A soul,
A thought,
Just
Wondering:
How serene,
And beautiful
Is tonight,
Listening to the sound,
Of your sleep,
The Oh so
Beautiful:
The gentle,
The trickling:
The sound of snow.
Copyright © Chris Roe | Year Posted 2009
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