December 13, 2010

Some wait for the first snowdrop of the year,
The first swallow, travelling ahead,
The first crocus to shyly show her head
Through the snow, the first robin to appear.

To some, quiet winter snow brings no cheer,
No laughter, no joy, just a constant dread
Of snow, and snow, and yet another spread
Of endless white. When will it disappear?!

Huddled away inside houses and bars
With shutters closed, they can't imagine how
Scattered light from a thousand scattered stars
Sparkles on a low-hanging, snow-decked bough.
Instead, they wait testily in their cars,
And waiting: miss the beauty that is now.

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