Old Elms In the Snow
Old Elms in the Snow
It snows this day
upon Your work.
The elms seem sad,
their bark wrinkled fingers
aimlessly appoint.
Piped in ermine, winter
ballerina limbs
take permanent position,
frozen supplicant or
petrified pirouette.
Winter grows still
my God.
Kathryn M. Collins
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