An old snow-covered wagon with spoked wheels

That old wag­on wheel
Sat in that field
For years on end, unnoticed.

In sum­mer the grass grew
Around and hid it from view
As the wood rot­ted away.

In spring flow­ers bloomed
Through its spokes, ungroomed.
And steel rims rust­ed to nothing.

But win­ter brought a snowy crown
Of white, of feath­ery down.
Its beau­ty speaks to me.

  • Chuck Witt

    Chuck is a retired archi­tect, a for­mer news­pa­per colum­nist, and a life­long res­i­dent of Winchester.