Spring can swerve.
White patches,
holdouts from yesterday's snow,
are melted by today's rains.
Buds no sooner form
than are encased in ice.
No self-respecting Summer
day could bring snow.
Winter won't hatch
a butterfly.
Autumn can't turn
a red leaf back to green.
But Spring can swerve.
tufts of grass poke
through a dusting of snow;
tomorrow -- mud!
between snowy banks,
a silvery river
slips through cold mountains.
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
church at dusk
looks shuttered and vacant, then
door creak, candle flame
winter day dawn:
single set of boot-prints
in fresh fallen snow.
I walked abroad in a snowy day:
I ask'd the soft snow with me to play:
She play'd & she melted in all her prime,
And the winter call'd it a dreadful crime.
snow has fallen.
cars of many colors, all white:
a piano-esque lot.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 