The prairie wind sounds colder
Than any wind I have ever heard.
Looking through frosted windows
I see snow whirl in the street
And think how deep
All over the country now
Snow drifts
And cars are stuck
On icy roads.
A solitary man walking
Wraps his face in a woolen mask,
Turns his back sometimes
So as not to front
This biting, eye-smarting wind.
Suddenly i see my dead father
In an old coat too thin for him,
The tabs of his caps pulled over his ears,
On a drifted road in New Brunswick
Walking with bowed head
Towards home.