Poisha Yungen


Snow

Where weeping willows brush the snow
Light-falling from the powdered sky
As Mother Hulda makes her bed -
Wisp-feathered love soft-falls from high

The swirling flakes borne loft in eddies
Brush against a cold-stung cheek
So gentle are the sharp caresses
Piercing for a touch so meek

[Report Error]