Late April Snow Storm

The land is all alight with Easter colors,
Tulips in pink and orange bending over
The clumps of daffodils just past first flowering.
Even the tips of lilacs, rough and brittle,
Begin to round themselves with pregnant green.
But all this sinks, today, beneath new weight
As sudden blooms of white descend in clusters.
For even now—the earth a warming mush
That clots the soles and suckles on slow rain—
Far down from frozen heaven, bend and turn
The windborne flakes that hold their curious shapes
And make a throne of every bough and grass blade.
They will not last, it’s true, and melt to nothing
The moment one bends down to touch their chill;
They leave a slick gleam on the whorled flesh.
The sky is like a boy dismissed from class
Who stops and turns to sneer on those who loathe him.

—James Matthew Wilson