Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Winter White (Poem 309)

Like piped icing, swirls
of snow edge all the eaves
in town, the trees, and each 
wrought iron fence. The swing 
sets sparkle now; the trails,
the slopes are fresh, the
very streets pristine; and
the sacred mountain, always
she wears winter

white, like swathes of sweet
angora brushed to a fizz 
of mist by gales, winds,
each breeze, belying the 
bone-deep freeze that sears 
within her hardened heart, 
where she wears winter

white, September, 
March, and May--no slave 
to fashion, she 
prefers the shade 
of innocence year-round. 
Meringue, whipped cream, 
the color of a prairie storm, 
a pristine pearl, a sun-soaked 
beach where warm, clear 
water kisses sand aglow 
under a brilliant moon--
so round, so full of midnight 
dreams, and she 
wears winter white.

(c) 2014, by Hannah Six

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