Early Winter

The crystal blades of winter frost
Have snipped the leaves that dot the field.
The trees leak iron-black across
The sky where evening swallows wheeled.

A knifey light cuts deep and shows
Leaves with their intricate designs
Half sodden in the drifted snows,
Beneath the moaning, deathless pines.

And wind like water softly pours
Over the gnashing river reeds.
The river that no longer roars
Died quiet in its bed of weeds.

Now morning vapors ghost and drift.
The clouds beyond look thickly whisked.
There comes a bitter snow to sift
The frozen earth, where seeds lie disked.

— by Ray Harvey


  • Nick

    November 17, 2010

    “Trees?” “Frost?” “River?”

    Sounds like some environmentalist/Nazi propaganda to me.

    Nice poem, nonetheless.

    Your picture, or did you steal it from the Internets?

  • Ray

    November 17, 2010

    I only wish the poem were as moving as the name of the website you kindly link us to.

  • Nick

    November 17, 2010

    I kid because I love.

  • must one really leave a name?

    November 27, 2010

    Tout par accident, j’ai trouvé il ya quelques minutes ton poème qui s’agit de l’hiver. Bien sur, ce n’est pas de vrai accident quand on lit exprès RayHarvey.org, mais ironiquement hier soir, j’ai écrit une description du même chose comme partie d’un oeuvre plus grand. C’est tout. Une petite observation pas aussi profonde que le video du Sexy Pilgrim, mais je le préfère quand même. Bon hiver!

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