The bareness of Winter,
Skeletal branches,
Black and silver,
Chimes like a music box,
Like a melody stripped
Of frivolities, so the weightless
Chill in the air is life
At her most pure.
Summer's tension mounts,
Cacophonous nature
Or threatening silence,
And shanghais children,
The truly perceptive ones,
Into a game of tag,
Running like dervishes till lungs
Feel like burning.
Apr 29, 2011
Apr 29, 2011 at 4:56 AM UTC
The bareness of Winter,
Skeletal branches,
Black and silver,
Chimes like a music box,
Like a melody stripped
Of frivolities, so the weightless
Chill in the air is life
At her most pure.
Summer's tension mounts,
Cacophonous nature
Or threatening silence,
And shanghais children,
The truly perceptive ones,
Into a game of tag,
Running like dervishes till lungs
Feel like burning.
class assignment 4.28.11; response to Wallace Stevens' "The Snow Man"