White tree on black tree,
Ghostly appearance fastened on another,
Called up by harsh spells of this wintry weather
You stand in the night as though to speak to me.
I could almost
Say what you do not fail to say; that's why
I turn away, in terror, not to see
A tree stand there hugged by its own ghost.
Ewen McCaig, The Poems of Norman MacCaig (Polygon 2009).
Hedges Freaked with Snow
No argument, no anger, no remorse,
No dividing of blame.
There was poison in the cup -- why should we ask
From whose hand it came?
No grief for our dead love, no howling gales
That through darkness blow,
But the smile of sorrow, a wan winter landscape,
Hedges freaked with snow.
Robert Graves, New Poems (1962).