Prismatic chips clatter against glass frames
wind-driven, opaque collections
heaped to infinity.
Blacktop and tarmac await the scrape
As Gea tucks in sleepy grassesWith frosty, hibernate hands.
Metal dentures rumble past
Steel maw cleaves the twilight
Rows of white topped ground unmasked.
Ann Chiappetta © 1994
For The First Snow Fall
| Filed under Poem
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