Oh, how beautiful is the ground
Where treachery lies mistaken,
The frigid wind blows never here,
Only nourishes the surround.

The fallen drop is mutated
From tear to silken, sliding down;
Whilst other emotes fall, resolved,
This one thing keeps wonder sated.

Imagine this scene swept with snow,
Every inch tightly compacted
Into a single syllable -
Trimmed, a sure sign with hope aglow.

To this it points: of youthful sense:
The drifting of minds, to and fro,
An arabesque of dainty flakes,
Lying witness to consequence.

What deadly paths produce their coats
To catch underfoot unawares
The certain bestial walkers;
With this first glimmer, weather gloats.

Each blank face is an obstruction,
Like a page made absent of words –
Slipping caress equal to chill.
What planet sows its destruction?

Since when will winter bathe in lies?
Whole nights are cloaked in changes
Of their rein coming to an end.
But this wash is one more surprise;

Look, the ground and buds and flowers
Appear at a second smiling,
The dance is set from refresher,
Once it upturned from silent hours.

The End

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