The door of winter
is frozen shut, 

and like the bodies
of long extinct animals, cars 

lie abandoned wherever
the cold road has taken them. 

How ceremonious snow is,
with what quiet severity 

it turns even death to a formal
arrangement. 

Alone at my window, I listen
to the wind, 

to the small leaves clicking
in their coffins of ice.

Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 1124 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Linda Pastan
Poem: Wind Chill
There are no comments for this poem. Why not be the first one to post something about it?

Are you looking for more information on this poem? Perhaps you are trying to analyze it? The poem, Wind Chill, has not yet been commented on. You can click here to be the first to post a comment about it. Of course you can also always discuss poems by Linda Pastan with others on the American Poems poetry forum!