SNOW
Silent snow, slow snow
slushing, shimmering snow
branches etched in fine snow
falling now, again from
ink grey skies touched with rose
driving snow does not penetrate
the avenue of trees,
but it falls from heavy branches
high high above my head.
footprints bring memories
from 60 years ago
the first snow falls, crunching
shouting, echoing in the valley
where we sledged full speed
down the hillside
and here today so many years have passed
my life is short now the dye is caste
L.Ivison 2025 copyright
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