In the pre-dusk hush, the
mind slows, studying the
snow which knows
stillness, and the thaw
and melt, drawn back
into the earth, no sound
in the soft ground, where
there is something
green or wanting to
be green, while, above,
through cirrus wisps,
more light every day,
while arctic wind disagrees--
wait, with the patience
of a tree in winter.
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