Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                      Snow Clouds for Children on a January Dawn

There could be snow later, and that would be nice
Children can grow up here and never see snow
Today they might go out and play in it
While we old folks tut-tut, “You’ll catch your death…”

But they are asleep, the snow is asleep
Only the rain is awake, drip, drip, drip
Making last summer’s leaves speak one last time
As they crumble into their winter sleep

There could be snow later, and that would be nice
For the children: a happy new year twice

I remember it
like it was years ago
or maybe yesterday
snow falling around me
like the laughter
in my soul
my eyes finding refuge
in the fall upon my feet
tiny dancers
mocking
my reaction
or rather lack of
to the cold
i found myself
numb
i found myself
restless
and then i found
my eyes
wandering behind me
into the snow
finally taking notice
in the lack of footprints
that followed
my feet reaching nothing
but a shallow cry
and that's when I knew

the world would never see me again

I remember
the two of us lying
under dogwood trees,
pink blossoms falling like snow
onto what I thought was love.

The sun was in my eyes
that day and every day after.

There is no need
to look back now,
I have no desire to wallow
in tears or pink snow.

I only wanted to say goodbye to you
once.

Tonight, I sit down to write
Just like many nights before.
This time, however, I saw something different on the other side of the door.
I saw hope.
I saw it when I saw the grass again.
I saw the sun melt the snow away.
And I knew that snow would turn
Back to water which would bring
The flowers back someday.

When both winter and night
waltz through lands, it’s a sight;
It’s a magical moment—the nature’s delight.

Silver light from the moon,
as they dance to slow tunes,
Would reflect on the surface of pearl-white dunes.

Snow would sparkle so bright
it would match the starlight;
It would set the dark forest, the whole world, alight.

Gusts of wind from the ground,
whirling, twisting around,
Would swoosh down ice slopes to create a rare sound.

Frosty music would fill
lands with wonder and thrill—
Notes of magic so warm you won’t notice the chill.

It’s a precious, magnificent sight
When white winter twirls, sings with dark night.