A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
Snow quiets away the day.
Still it falls, and the horses
gather it on their backs.
Black water moves beneath the ice
where the Swift and Ware rivers meet.
Sorrow is muffled in its softness.
Death is finally kind. There is
nothing to fear, says the snow.
No, and the mind clears.
The storm thickens in this field
away from the town
somewhere behind the swirling white.
Copyright 2017 Doug Anderson