I wish it hadn't snowed
so I wouldn't have to watch it melt away.

The Snow covered the truth,
for a while I didn't see a ground
grey and scared by carelessness.
Now, once again it is ugly,
and I'm forced to see it every day.

Everyone came together
to make perfect white angels
and throw perfect white snow balls,
but they've retreated back inside,
as dull greens and tired blues return.

It had all looked so fresh
and unnaturally pure.
The cold streets of London
had never looked so warm.

The chaos came second
as we all stood outside.
The atmosphere built
as we danced into the night.

In such a grim and frightening place,
such magic is rare.
The beautiful photos
will document this bliss.

But aesthetics aside,
this won't happen again,
and its majesty fades
and seeps into the dirty, despairing ground.

I wish it hadn't snowed
so I wouldn't have to watch it melt away.


But I wish more than anything,
that I'd done more.

I wish more than anything,
she hadn't left.

02/05/2009

Author's Note: A poem to remember London's biggest snow day in 30 odd years. Also to remember the worst week I've had in quite a while.

Posted on 02/05/2009
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