December in the Tropics

THE palm trees slope against the sky
As still as they were painted so . . .
Very strange it is that I
Stand under them, knee-deep in snow.
In other lands as green as this
Are other men, perhaps, like me,
Listening to the seething hiss
Of snowflakes falling endlessly.
Oh, kindly hills of home! that keep
For us who left them years ago
A wintry silence, muffled deep
In newly fallen, immortal snow.