Les Murray(b. 1938)
Once in a Lifetime, Snow
For Chris and Mary Sharah
W i n t e r s a t h o m e b r o u g h t w i n d ,
b l a c k f r o s t a n d r a w
g r e y r a i n i n b a r b e d - w i r e f i e l d s ,
b u t n e v e r m o r e
u n t i l t h e d a y m y u n c l e
r o s e a t d a w n
a n d s t e p p e d o u t s i d e — t o f i n d
h i s p a d d o c k s g o n e ,
h i s c a t t l e t o t h e i r h o c k s
in ghostly ground
a n d u n a c c u s t o m e d l i g h t
f o r m i l e s a r o u n d .
A n d h e s t o p p e d s h o r t , a n d g a z e d
lit f r o m b e l o w ,
and half his wrinkles vanished
murmuring Snow.
A m a n o f f a r m a n d f a c t
h e s t a r e d t o s e e
t h e f a c t s o f w e a t h e r r a i s e d
to a m y s t e r y
w h i t e o n t h e w o r l d h e k n e w
a n d all h e o w n e d .
Snow Here he mused. I see.
High time I learned.
Here, guessing what he meant
had much to do
with that black earth dread old men
are given to,
he stooped to break the sheer
crust with delight
at finding the cold unknown
so deeply bright,
at feeling it take his prints
so softly deep,
as if it thought he knew
enough to sleep,
or else so little he
might seek to shift
its weight of wintry light
by a single drift,
perceiving this much, he scuffed
his slippered feet
and scooped a handful up
to taste, and eat
in memory of the fact
that even he
might not have seen the end
of reality . . .
Then, turning, he tiptoed in
to a bedroom, smiled,
and wakened a murmuring child
and another child.