In the country, snow is merely an additional adornment, but in the city it is- for brief moments until traffic and soot engulf it- the most beautiful dress nature ever wears. It clothes the drabness, and it hushes the strident noise. It erases the architect's willful blunders, and it hides away the garbage. It brings an absolute beauty to the shapes of tall buildings and makes serene the drunken lurchings of mean old houses that should have been torn down long since. And when, in addition to all this, a thousand electric stars play upon it, throwing ghostly banners across its placid surface, a new-fallen city snow is a thing of cold and perfect beauty.
Reason for writing:
This isn't a poem, but it was inspired by our first snowfall
of the year here in Ypsilanti, which just happened to be tonight.
Birth sign: Not entered
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View more poems by Cory Bogner {Pisces}.