Winter's Habit
The picture is perfect
All spackled and new
Under dim-lit forsythia.
The reflection is shone
In the new fallen snow.
And base to the corner
Its' curiously known.
Each texture, each timber
So hallowed receive.
All the grandeur and loyal
So effortlessly groan.
Always windswept and drifting
Carefully blown.
Spring.
Copyright © Jan Backes | Year Posted 2011
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