875

The quiet snow has stopped the headlong rush

To empty all the shops of Christmas cheer;

The roads are silent, as my fingers brush

The quiet snow.

Grey skies massing out beyond the pier

Herald change, but near me the hush

Of snow on snow hangs about my ear

Like pearls on silk, until the distant slush

Of noise intrudes, willing me to clear

My mind of transient joys each time I touch

The quiet snow.

Brian Hick Nov 2010

©copyright Sally Hick November 2022