Wednesday, February 12, 2014


It's winter and the snow is all around.
It's heaped like powdered sugar on the ground.
It drifted down like manna from above
And now it's here – for us to hate or love.

And on the prairie, on a moonlit night,
The silent snow is like an ocean white.
But in the city, in the light of day,
The snow is soot – and chocolate and gray.

Within the gutter, underneath the ice,
The slush is hiding, like a secret vice.
But in the parks, beneath the sullied snow,
The dormant grass awaits its chance to grow.

2014 February 12th, Wed.
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn

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