And here comes snow, / a language in which no word is ever repeated Spring Snow William Matthews – Here comes the powdered milk I drank as a child, and the money it saved. Here come the papers I delivered, the spotted dog in heat that followed me home – Read rest of poem – (poetry diary 205-3/14/17) Share this:TwitterFacebookGoogleLike this:Like Loading... Related Leave a Reply Cancel reply Enter your comment here... Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Email (required) (Address never made public) Name (required) Website You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change ) You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change ) You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change ) You are commenting using your Google+ account. ( Log Out / Change ) Cancel Connecting to %s Notify me of new comments via email.