VOL. V, NO. 6
DECEMBER 13, 1963
Winter
By Tula Arvanitis '64
How lovely
The delicate flakes of snow are
As they fall,
One by one on the hard ground,
Making a soft, downy blanket
Pure,
As if to ensconce all the hate
And the cruelness In the world.
Black and bare were the trees
Yesterday, but today
All are covered
With the white, silken majesty
Of snow.
The street lamp throws
A spotlight
On each symmetrical flake,
And as the wind blows
Gently, quietly,
Each one takes a bow
And falls.
The moon glows
Above this aesthetic spectacle,
And the stars twinkle
As if to say,
"This happens only
In December."
In the distance I see a light
In a room
Filled with smoke, and noise,
And people.
Ah!
Tears start to fall
In harmony with the snow
To see this ecstatic peace
Disturbed.
How lovely
The delicate flakes of snow are
As they fall,
One by one on the hard ground,
Making a soft, downy blanket
Pure,
As if to ensconce all the hate
And the cruelness In the world.
Black and bare were the trees
Yesterday, but today
All are covered
With the white, silken majesty
Of snow.
The street lamp throws
A spotlight
On each symmetrical flake,
And as the wind blows
Gently, quietly,
Each one takes a bow
And falls.
The moon glows
Above this aesthetic spectacle,
And the stars twinkle
As if to say,
"This happens only
In December."
In the distance I see a light
In a room
Filled with smoke, and noise,
And people.
Ah!
Tears start to fall
In harmony with the snow
To see this ecstatic peace
Disturbed.