Fall over the earth, little snow.
Tuck her in to a winter repose.
We’ve no need to rush.
I love the stall, the stop, the hush
Your slippery softness brings.
We’ve no need for quick—
Freeze the flame on earth’s short wick.
Perhaps she’ll stall her harried spin
And let your blanket tuck her in.
And then the world will sit and wait.
Slow, slow.
The businessman may watch you fall.
The cat will sit and lick her paw.
