I the Witness
I the Witness
How delicately each flake of snow falls,
Silently landing on its own carpet.
Swelling the ground relentlessly,
With drifts that ever cover walls.
How carefully the man next door treads,
As he de-ices and prepares his car.
He could use his legs to get to work,
It’s not far.
Steadily he reverses from his drive,
Out onto the big main road.
On the ice a lorry skids to avoid him,
And spills its load.
The man next door is just oblivious,
To the carnage he’s caused today.
He puts his car in forward gear.
And drives away.
Michael J Hill January 2002.
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