The park lies quiet in the morn,
its metal benches squatting there
on sloping hill near willow trees
with snow fast-swirling in the air.
The lawn is sugar-powdered now
like brownie crusts, Mom's apple pie.
Yon benches' seats are softly clad
with down blown off by gusty sigh.
Along a path I splotch with prints,
I stroll around twin swollen lakes.
My Lab pup lunges on his leash,
his sable coat quite flecked with flakes.
Not far away a vacant swing
awaits a child's excited shout,
the pumping of his churning legs,
that madcap laugh as he leaps out.
But winter's come. I won't see him.
Though this snowfall may vanish soon,
those storms that follow in its wake
will banish kids till May or June.
|
