Snowstorm on the Lake

(After Tu Fu) by George Freek

The window is frozen.

Morning hangs like an icicle

three weeks old.

The sun barely lights the day,

and it doesn’t stay.

Birds turn from an icy wind

to search for grubs.

They search the trees.

They search the dead leaves.

They almost seem to turn

hopelessly to the sky.

On the lake, boatmen stare

at the coming storm.

They row towards

the shore but make

little headway. Their hands

tightly grip the oars.

In this implacable weather,

they have no time to pray.