A kitchen with a cook that’s wild
…Has flour everywhere.
A layer, white, on counter lays,
…And on his hands and hair.
And when we would describe the scene
…To let another know
We’d say that all was covered white –
…‘Twas blanketed with snow.
One starts a fire with solid wood,
…And things that cannot fly
Since they are solid mass, and weight
…Is what they’re anchored by.
But let the flames lick hungrily,
…And heat will upward flow.
Then flake-like ashes from the fire
…Fall from the sky like…snow.
In blizzards, flakes like ashes fall;
…The trees are white-capped waves.
The ground becomes the ocean’s foam
…Thick like a face man shaves.
Then all the world is blanketed
…And all shapes, rounded, grow.
And we are then without a word,
…For what’s like snow is – snow!
—
© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.
The Bard on the Hill 