by: William Carlos Williams
Snow:
years of anger following
hours that float idly down--
the blizzard
drifts its weight
deeper and deeper for three days
or sixty years, eh? Then
the sun! a clutter of
yellow and blue flakes--
Hairy looking trees stand out
in long alleys
over a wild solitude.
The man turns and there--
his solitary track stretched out
upon the world.
_________________________
A good poem for tonight, as the snow and wind continue.
Saint Marty is in the mood for some special hot chocolate tonight.
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