Poetry By
Catherine Knutsson
Published on: 10/12/2007
The Soft Fall of Snow
On days when the soft fall of snow Has choked all sound from the world And the rumble of time is our pulse, How can we not turn inwards and listen To the beat of the constant, ineffable Movement under our feet, in our hands, In the waters of our soul? And when the snow melts, Drop by drop, seeping with silt And vapor to return to the reservoirs of time, Does it wonder why it melds With the essence of human creation, The by-products of worldly beings That do not listen, Swirling masses of pure and foul To taint the very core of life?
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