No snow fell on Eden
There was no snow in Eden as I remember it.
There was no snow, so no thaw or tao as you say:
no snowmelt drooled down the brae,
baring what it should've left kindly hidden.
No yellow ice choked bogbean.
There was no sheepskulls in the midden.
It was no allotment, Eden -
but a hothouse, an orangery,
with maidenhair strummed
by a mumbling monkey.
There was no cabbage-patch of rich, roseate heads.
There was no innuendo and no snow.
No footprint thawed to the sloppy paw of a yeti.
And since in Eden they were so mature,
a steaming bing of new manure was just not funny.
Eve knew no one who was dying.
Adam never sat up late, drinking and crying.
And if at four the sky split like a watermelon,
soddening the land with blue and citrine,
and the drowned ground wept smells,
on one stood stock staring still.
Black was not so sooty, as I remember it.
Green was not so greeny-browny.
No boat twirled redly
on an eyepopping sea.
by Jen Hadfield
Bloodaxe Books 2008