The cars half-buried in the parking lot
The power lines weighed down with icy chains
A door shut with a snow-drifted garrotte
The slight depressions at the clogged-up drains,
Stop signs illegibly redone in white,
The extra luminescence of street lamps
The windowshades opened to view the sight
Storm windows closed, though, to avoid the damps,
A glimpse of motion - maybe just the breeze,
Maybe some small creature trapped outside -
The dying majesty of leafless trees
Crowned with eternal white and deified
Are signs and symbols of the passing storm
As am I, huddled here just to keep warm.
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