The Enforcement of Soft
Snow falls outside the abandoned factory.
I know what they say about snow, but they are wrong –
it is not silent.
Stand still and listen and you hear it,
the tiny pitter-pat, the clicking of flake on flake,
the fall, the sudden landing, striking
of millions of them around you,
God’s creating of a blanket in unconventional ways
while you stand, stock still.
There’s beauty in it, the falling, the snow,
a firefly flicker of an old movie,
a soft distortion that suits your own romantic
view of a brick-hard world,
forcing the world, for just a time perhaps
just a bit softer.
About this poem
I tend to be a bit romantic in a hard world. Or it could be about snow.
The picture was taken in Adams, Mass.