the lonely snow
has no visitors now-
she sits along the trail
refusing to change.
she’s colder than her cousins
but doesn’t seem to mind-
til bugs and bees and butterflies
wake and crawl among the trees,
drunk from their winter’s slumber.
you’d think she’d have a hiding place
somewhere to scatter for awhile
somewhere hidden beneath the boulders
that crown the ridge-summit seats.
perhaps a cave would be a comfort
or deep within a fissure, yet
even that, she will not consider.
if someone’s going that way
be sure and stop and see her,
she may not be long on words
but I’m sure you’ll soon relieve her.
the lostkerryman 