When we went to bed last night;
the world was green, but now it’s white.
It should be spring this time of year,
but I guess winter wasn’t quite
as through with us as we would like.
The snow is deep; the air is clear;
white silence settles in my ear.
Each glistening, rippled drift and fold
makes visible the tracks of deer
and animals we thought were near
but never knew until it snowed.
The branches bend beneath the load.
Snow swallows in a haze of light
the vanished dream, the vanished road.
It’s pretty, but it’s awfully cold.
©2001 F.J. Bergmann
"Late Snow" appeared in the Wisconsin Poets Calendar 2004
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