Andrew W.

The Sound Of Winter

Delicate white flakes lay as new fallen snow
So tightly packed each shape is hard to know.
A dense white carpet deep with drifts
Covers all signs of summer's past gifts.

From afar comes a rumbling roar,
Growing louder and louder all the more.
A wide neat path carved side to side,
Each tiny crystal with nowhere to hide.

Man and machine, handle in gloved hand
Dutiful worker reclaiming the land.
Each trail cut uniformly into the snow
Leaving a fresh path for all to go.

It seems so foolish to dare think it's done
That there's even a chance there won't be someone
Who in the days to follow will not march back
To begin all again, for with winter snow the paths do not lack.


Copyright 2002-2008 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose 2002-2008 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.