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Under the Tablecloth
Where water falls and rests upon the land
As ice, it forms a layer of deceit.
The crystal wonder, so austere and grand
Makes purity a cover for retreat.
In regions southern, plants upon the sand
Do lack that pretty alabaster sheet
And brown and skeletal do make their stand
As life flows from the grass beneath your feet
To lurk within the roots, where there abides
The same persistence that the snowdrift hides.
As all defies the fading of the light
To wait in silver patience through the night
And months, until the new green leaves are fanned,
And ancient lines are dealt a fresh new hand.
As ice, it forms a layer of deceit.
The crystal wonder, so austere and grand
Makes purity a cover for retreat.
In regions southern, plants upon the sand
Do lack that pretty alabaster sheet
And brown and skeletal do make their stand
As life flows from the grass beneath your feet
To lurk within the roots, where there abides
The same persistence that the snowdrift hides.
As all defies the fading of the light
To wait in silver patience through the night
And months, until the new green leaves are fanned,
And ancient lines are dealt a fresh new hand.
I'm familiar with the Shakespearean sonnet, and while this matches the meter and rhyme scheme of one, the way it's divided into stanzas is a little different. Maybe a Petrarchan sonnet? Either way, the rhymes are all clean, and the rhythm is only a little forced here and there. Straightforward subject matter of life waiting beneath the snow to emerge again in the spring.
Well goddamn, someone had something almost nice to say about the snow, which at least has nothing to do with misery, hopelessness, privation, and all of that. I'm no expert on sonnets, but I tend to associate the form with a portrait in words, and its use here seems to convery a sense of stillness.