by Eleanor Mell
Friday, September 14, 2012
Rated "G" by the Author.
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I wrote this poem while on a spiritual retreat in Estes Park, Colorado. I watched a snow storm roll in.
Rolling clouds grace the sky, tripping upon the peaks.
A dusting here, a frosting there, down crevasses it does seep.
Browns and greens turn to gray, outlined in pungent white.
The top is soft; the bottom rigid, the breeze contains the frigid.
Snow it is. A storm so calm, winter’s healing balm.
copyright © Eleanor Mell 2007
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|Reviewed by Ronald Hull
|Growing up in Wisconsin, by winter's end I found the storm no balm but only a rigid, frigid white desert silently waiting for spring.
|Reviewed by Christine Alwin
|You painted a beautiful picture with your words, stunning~|