Was there a wind? Tap… tap… Night pads upon the snow with moccasined feet… and it is still… so still… an eagle's feather might fall like a stone. Could there have been a storm… mad-tossing golden mane on the neck of the wind… tearing up the sky… loose-flapping like a tent about the ice-capped stars? <br /> <br /> Cool, sheer and motionless <br /> the frosted pines <br /> are jeweled with a million flaming points <br /> that fling their beauty up in long white sheaves <br /> till they catch hands with stars. <br /> Could there have been a wind <br /> that haled them by the hair…. <br /> and blinding <br /> blue-forked <br /> flowers of the lightning <br /> in their leaves? <br /> Tap… tap… <br /> slow-ticking centuries… <br /> Soft as bare feet upon the snow… <br /> faint… lulling as heard rain <br /> upon heaped leaves…. <br /> Silence <br /> builds her wall <br /> about a dream impaled.<br /><br />Lola Ridge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/after-storm/
