Oh Crotched Mountain how you humble me
Standing on my roof beam shoveling snow
Stagger under man sized icicles
The hushed blue white of the meadow
The grapple load and all fire wood buried
Only hope now is the standing dead wood
Pull the cut logs home on a toboggan
As these snow shoes give Christ like power
To walk on the face of the snow -dragon
Of Crotched and your circle of arctic
At first light I check the light on your face
How those rose tipped fingers brush your lips
At seven AM in zero degrees
I'm praying to stove, to tea and greensleaves.
SL 01/14/2003