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Wednesday, December 10, 2014


there is something about
the slop of first winter snow

slush the next morning
the slap dash of cars

ferrying their drivers
to ports of work

that compels reflection
an unwelcome reminder

that beauty is evanescent
every flower fades

each glorious sunset
sinks like a stone

into a sea of darkness
one day's fairy dust

becomes the next day's
sodden slippery slosh

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