Snow And Hawk - Poem by Hans Ostrom
After a lot of snow fell
and stayed, noise flew south
to join a conga line. Listening
from inside the house to nothing
noise had left behind, we saw
a hawk glide over white space
two deeply green groves framed.
The brown hawk landed on a
gray branch, which spilled snow.
Inside we tried to be quiet. We
weren’t blanketed by snow,
and we’re used to talking, so
this being quiet-it wasn’t natural.
We were tempted for example
to discuss snow and follow
that immediately with much
talk about the hawk. Luckily,
someone said, Shush.
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