Snow song

the rhythmic treat no southern soul can know
is walking out in winter’s squeaky snow

when sky is steely blue and hard as glass
when simple air inhales as shards of brass

when silence reaches out to pale the sun
and woods are still and breath and heart are one

then snow the diamond harness of the north
drifts hangs sings floats deliberately roars
in music mortals see but seldom hear
so blind is heart so sweet enchanted, ear.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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