It snowed all around us, but not on us

artist:  Martha Farham Cahoon
 

Here's a poem from Dylan Thomas:

"In the sniffed and poured snow on the tip of the tongue of the year

That clouts the spittle like bubbles with broken rooms,

An enamoured man alone by the twigs of his eyes, two fires,

Camped in the drug-white shower of nerves and food,

Savours the lick of the times through a deadly wood of hair

In a wind that plucked a goose,

Nor ever, as the wild tongue breaks its tombs,

Rounds to look at the red, wagged root."

 

-  Dylan Thomas, January, 1939