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Poem: “Winter Morn”


A very pale
Blue slate-gray,
A puff of
Powdered cloud.

Glassed-limbs crackle
Stiff with age
Then snap –
And boom quite loud.

Tree trunks black
In shrouds of ice –
Branches split
And splinter.

November sleeps
December wakes
To the eternal
Advent of winter!

Hilary M. Flanery