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About This Poem
WINTER MUSING
WINTER MUSING
at first just the few
they swirl – separate each one
flakes of driven snow
melt before they touch
as though the ground is still warm
as though in combat
high barren branches look down
on fallen offspring turned brown
the yield reluctant
stark that twiggy waste
a world of gray sky exposed
poor earth like a tomb
i can’t but wonder
exactly where it began
winter’s sickly frown?
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