A Poem for Thursday


A white sky brooding over streets and trees
Spreads a down blanket over a landscape
Of hillsides, rooftops and lawns
Silenced under the weight of a sea of snow.

Through the off-white flowers and leaves
Of lace curtains hanging like a bridal veil
Over a maiden earth still virginal,
I gaze at a scene so intensely beautiful

No man would desire to mar its pale innocence
With a finger touch, or dare to remove the veil.
The lacework casts the shadows of blossoms and vines
Over whiteness watercolored by an invisible hand.

In my dead reckonings I gaze through a glass darkly,
The curtain’s symmetry of needlework my template,
And consolation, for an earth unmoved by misery,
And for hunger still lurking beneath spring’s shroud.

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