Snow

TJ Gemmill

Jack Frost claims the mountain every winter.
His snow buries fallen autumn leaves in their frigid graves.
His breath stops surface streams cold in their tracks.
His ghoulish face drapes the sky 
and brings no tears with it.

Sometimes it is too much for one mountain.
The snow piles higher than it was meant to,
and it’s old Jack’s duty to relieve the rocky slope’s burden
and he does his work quickly.

Friend, we had a good run.
From the African deserts to the Asian seaboards,
from the European cathedrals to the Aztec ruins,
and those Egyptian tombs to the Grand Canyon walls.
The days were long and the years were short, 
but we had a good run, partner.
And when we thought to beat old Jack at his own game,
we both knew we were in over our heads.

So why are you sharing autumn’s grave
while I’m digging in the snow?

Old Frost claims the mountain every winter.
I didn’t think he’d claim you too.