First Snow

By first light 

winter whispered itself white

onto the green grass like 

a woman whose beauty 

withers so soon and

as  you watch.

Something died in me today--

drowned in a sky of silent soup.

Do not search for it,

only sleep--

sleep and dream of 

sour springs and blood summers 

and shadows of cold words still-

born eggs like wishes broken 

in the growl of this fall storm.

PROMPT: Magnetic word tiles selected on the basis of what appealed to me that day. (I have LOTS!)