Snow falls
On talk of broken branches
Trees, which once stood tall
Are picked at, and picked at
As if to bring on the ravages of winter
Snowflakes swirl
In the bright light
Of the breezy morning
As if a thousand dancers
Prepare for the ballet
Between the footprints
And the lamplight
Are treads of doing
Treads of preparation
Treads of love
All the while
The pick pick picking
Conversation carries on
As if the sores
Are not already sore enough
