Melt
All the snowy day the woodcutter
smashed his axe into hardwood
and piled the chunks at my door
knowing the sin of splicing mahogany
and feeding it to sparks uneasily coaxed
from fire-lighters, cardboard and ply.
All the snowy day I sat at the window
permitting the flakes to land
on the roof of my car as a duvet,
goosefeather and down, 13 tog ,
allowing the fire to wind around
rectangular logs in illicit flames.
Pam Thompson 
Hey, really like this. Something about woodcutters that’s so fairytale so such a lovely contrast with the duvet wearing car. Snow poetry rocks, nearest I’ve come so far is my polar bear, perhaps there’s still time though! x:)
Thanks, Lyds! More snow poems from you, I think! The blasted stuff’s still here so we might as well make use of it.:O