It Snowed a Little Last Night
Sleepless I listen,
a muted winter magnifies
the slightest sound.
Snow falling,
snow walking over snow,
snow speaking -
wordless
as it plays a stringless harp.
Whispers of peace and death,
still night,
an ice sculptured air.
When dawn slips into
its many coated reality,
this silent symphony;
the unread simplicity
of falling snow
will have to bury its tongue.
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