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WINTER WALKThe pale sun impotent in its faded light seems frozen in the whitewashed sky- and I march across a frosted land, the meadow grass crackling underfoot like a snaredrum keeping time- and I smell winter in my hair as the chill wind swirls around my head, all woodsmoke and snowflakes- and I feel the essence of winter in my bones chilled though they be- serene, restful, and at peace. K.Tate Jacoby copyright Jan. 2000 Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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