poetry diary

Shadows long on the table –
Winter sun warms your hand.
I think of winters past,
In the snow.

Snow bright against the trees –
Squirrel runs for the hedge.
My mind follows its tracks,
In the snow.

So still and clear, orange leaves –
Framed outside my window.
Like Japanese woodcuts,
In the snow.

Grass tips through ice, caught, and
Waiting for snowmelt; they
Mirror my heart – trapped, now,
In the snow.

© 2010 Matthew Rhodes