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About This Poem
Ancient Winter
A Pileated Woodpecker skewers through
The golden mirage of fall trees
Leaves dropping from frosted beginnings
Rush my glance towards his perch
Loud knocking races my blood
Fumbling with my camera
Never captured
History on parchment proclaims freedom
Offering hope to all who taste the
Coming winter
To all who taste
The
Coming
Winter
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