The Truth About Snow

The Truth About Snow

Is that it's never convenient and almost
always unwanted. Except for kids who
would rather spend the day drinking hot chocolate
and sledding down hills into traffic.
Or lovers who want an excuse to remain
with one another for just a little longer.
Too soon, it loses its glamour and its purity.
Kids begin to think of summer and water balloons.
Lovers long for beaches or someone new.
Dirty, unwanted, and forgotten,
it waits in the gutter for spring.
When it washes rubbish to the river
or provides puddles to jump in,
it may regain some usefulness.

* * *
All right. There's the poem for today. Good bits and bad bits. Overall grade of C. For tomorrow, let's work on something a little more concrete. Tomorrow's goal: Personification. Tomorrow's poem: Because I Could Not Stop For Death: Emily Dickinson

"Because I Could Not Stop for Death
Emily Dickinson

BECAUSE I could not stop for Death--
He kindly stopped for me--
The Carriage held but just Ourselves--
And Immortality.

We slowly drove--He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labour and my leisure too,
For His Civility--

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess--in the Ring--
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain--
We passed the Setting Sun--

Or rather--He passed Us--
The Dews drew quivering and chill--
For only Gossamer, my Gown--
My Tippet--only Tulle--

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground--
The Roof was scarcely visible--
The Cornice--in the Ground--

Since then--'tis Centuries--and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses Heads
Were toward Eternity--