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a night in winter |
by griffith |
Thus spoke the trees,
And thus spoke the wind to them in turn.
They roused their leaves from their branches
And so they fell to blanket the forest floor.
Walking alone a fawn catches wind
the paws behind her are drawing near.
Scatter! The feathers of a bird drifts after its body,
Long in flight from the scene, it circles above.
The frost claims the bones and the scavengers scrounge for what they can
Lost in the snow, reward for wait finds the hungry.
Creeping clouds swarm the horizon,
Gods play tempests, and the candle in my window flutters
And dies.
a writer now in the dark fumbles for a match,
But to see the owl ruffle its feathers in the elm.
Forget the match.
Death in feathers finds the smallest creature,
Unsure of the darkness that now covers it.
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