2003
How long before
snow falls
for you?
Not the brittle sprinkling
which passes now
for snow
but a deep
dream-blanket
bending boughs into laden arcs,
sinking fences and hedges under drifts,
freezing the ponds into circus rinks,
where water-fowl unwittingly clown,
muffling your familiar world
(even the rumble of London’s traffic
is dampened)
in soft,
silent
forms.
Nothing so faded,
jaded,
worn
but is rendered wonderful
under snow.