A Late Snow

The white ground covering
stretches into an opaque white sky
like an empty page of paper
readied for a new story.
The dark trees all reach upward
into blank nothingness,
branching then diverging into a net
of delicate fingers begging
 something of the diffused sunlight.

They seem like so many hungry souls
grasping predictably
at the indistinct graces
of their annual Easter ablution.
A new season of faith?

Over time, the trees will still be branching
and reaching;  but come spring
their faith will be
vividly
crowned in green.

first published in Creative With Words

also published in FLOOR OF THE SKY Chapbook

also published in Illinois State Poetry Society 

also published in AllPoetry.com

also published in AllPoetry.com