It will end, but it hasn’t ended yet, and that
Has always been my favorite stage of a fall.
All day the flakes have filtered down, the news
Has filtered in through wires and waves about
The rest of this mostly probable world outside.
It will be dark soon. The cars and trees
Are white beyond the windows, and the white
And blue-point alley cats have not been seen.
I fished the morning paper out of a snow bank
Where it had landed, just outside a window
Screen. If only supplies reappeared by magic
I could live here alone and watching until spring.
No comments:
Post a Comment