Snow is its own country, and it beckons
With its white finger crooked, and is calling
From the hush of its chilled bulk, its tons
And territories, its white ground falling.
Elegies (1985)
Snow is its own country, and it beckons
With its white finger crooked, and is calling
From the hush of its chilled bulk, its tons
And territories, its white ground falling.
Elegies (1985)