Snowfall
Her white hair rippled
in deft waves
shrouding old shoulders,
bent, yet prideful.
When the morning hour fell
into gloom at the grim
beat of shadow noon,
she plunged from a tall branch,
toppled over and over
onto her sputtering heart.
The snowy owls swept in,
all twenty-two, and hovered
above,
winter silent, then
dove and covered her
with their plangent wings.
Bio: Theresa A. Cancro writes poetry and fiction. Her poems have appeared, or are forthcoming, on several online sites and in print, including Three Line Poetry, Napalm and Novocain, Jellyfish Whispers, Pyrokinection, Kumquat Poetry, A Handful of Stones and A Hundred Gourds.
Her white hair rippled
in deft waves
shrouding old shoulders,
bent, yet prideful.
When the morning hour fell
into gloom at the grim
beat of shadow noon,
she plunged from a tall branch,
toppled over and over
onto her sputtering heart.
The snowy owls swept in,
all twenty-two, and hovered
above,
winter silent, then
dove and covered her
with their plangent wings.
Bio: Theresa A. Cancro writes poetry and fiction. Her poems have appeared, or are forthcoming, on several online sites and in print, including Three Line Poetry, Napalm and Novocain, Jellyfish Whispers, Pyrokinection, Kumquat Poetry, A Handful of Stones and A Hundred Gourds.
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