Classic and Contemporary Poetry
SLEET STORM, by GLENNYS RIVOLA
First Line: There is a thought that haunts me in the night
Last Line: Is pain the only soil where splendor grows?
Subject(s): Affliction; Beauty; Ice; Night; Storms; Bedtime
There is a thought that haunts me in the night
When sleet drums ghostly fingers on the pane,
And stinging pellets mixed with icy rain
Clothe everything in ice. In truth, the sight
Is beautiful at morning till the bright
Intolerable flame is almost pain
When sunlight turns the anguished trees again,
Each one to sudden glory on a height.
It is ingratitude that I should see
A parable in all this loveliness,
Or do I see quite truly that a tree
Creates this frozen glittering quietness
In agony from which all beauty flows?
Is pain the only soil where splendor grows?
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