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After Night Snow
Gregg Dotoli


White snow,
Piled four fingers high,
On the still, once green, pine branches.
The tree a white caked couch
For the bright red cardinals.
The muffled silence and chill-breeze
Whisper morning peace.
The red dots rearrange themselves
By nature’s clock.


© by Gregg Dotoli.
Used with the author’s permission


Gregg Dotoli is a white hat hacker who works for a large corporation, keeping organizations safe. A resident of Nutley, New Jersey, his first love is the arts and he enjoys the rich culture of nearby NYC.



Post New Comment:
Margot Rose:
I simply fell in love with the way this poem moves me so sweetly from a close-up view of the snow on pine needles to the movement of red dots-- the birds from a much longer range of distance, creating the mood and aroma itself of winter. I'm lingering long in the world of this poem.
Posted 02/14/2016 04:04 PM
Shoshauna Shy:
It's 6 degrees where I am. Love that "muffled silence" and the last two lines.
Posted 01/10/2016 08:03 AM
Sweet. I worry about birds and wildlife, too. 4" as high as a Cardinal.
Posted 01/10/2016 06:54 AM

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