A muffled sound of wings,
As from its branch a crow
Shakes down on me
A cloudy spray of snow.
The spider’s web a fishing line;
Floaters of white hang, stable
Waiting for sun to set them free,
Like birds perched on a cable.
Streets with icing sugar,
Bicycles and railings show,
How a city turns pretty,
When it dons a hat of snow.
– PDR –
A muffled sound of wings,
As from its branch a crow
Shakes down on me
A cloudy spray of snow.
The spider’s web a fishing line;
Floaters of white hang, stable
Waiting for sun to set them free,
Like birds perched on a cable.
Streets with icing sugar,
Bicycles and railings show,
How a city turns pretty,
When it dons a hat of snow.