A Woodland In Snow
If there is a way to describe a woodland in snow,
I don’t know it.
I bet there is one, some metaphor conveying
Ethereal stillness, surreal purity.
But, if there is, it’s got nothing to do with me,
With my bluebottle cage of anxieties.
Yet still as we walk, the clichés sift down
Unbidden, unplanned
Like, well, like snow I suppose.
But that’s got nothing to do with me.
