March Mourning

The late snow is a fungus
smothering the earth,
is white dust bringing sleep,
everywhere is as still as sleep or death.

Only the road shows black and living,
only the road shows that men still come and go,
but you passed down this road
and do not come again.

When the trees no longer grieve with the wind
and rust freezes the axles,
when at last the road too lies white and unbroken,
we shall sleep with our love safe forever.