First Snow Poem by Tom Harding

The world has put itself to sleep
under new sheets
and for awhile we can allow ourselves
to forget a few things,
the bright plans of a new year
flown over the roofs
to somewhere south
that welcomes forgetfulness,
leaving only these sparrows
in the bare trees of your expression-
a cupboard of essentials to see out the year.
Enough for this plain soup
to enjoy at a darkened window
watching the snow fall.
The scattered leaves of the yard
the torn out pages of a calendar
being covered over now.