Winter Song
The old limb covered with heavy snow brushed its twigs along the ground.
A melancholy strain wound round the bitter hanging notes.
I didn’t hear the fearing song for that cold night crack that separates forever the dying from the living, sleeping sap.
Frost etched the story on a window pane that night.
Spitting, cracking, sculpting, finally melting into dawn.
Leaf by leaf and drop by drop the limb let go of its breaking burden--
and bounced back up in the winter sun.
Walking along the shadow edge I was caught by the song of the happy bough
Maybe I stayed a minute or so, it was cold you see,
And even though my spirits lifted in symmetry
I was caught that day and called away by the vicissitude of the here and now.
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