by Ethel Mortenson Davis

Winter, with bellowing cheeks,
blew and spat ice and snow
across the fields and streams,
across the woods and sides of lakes,
leaving a jagged and spiked print—

Like the Australian Aborigine
who puffed out his cheeks
and spat minerals
across his hand
in a cave on a wall,
leaving his print for humanity.


Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry

9 responses to “Print

  1. A good one, Ethel. Welcome to 2020. ❤️

  2. Beautiful lines Ethel. Love them.

  3. eremophila

    Wonderful Ethel! You always evoke the feeling perfectly.

  4. Beautiful poem, Ethel – I love this one!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s