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Winter pond

Midnight glazed the pasture's

one live eye. No more

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stubble-silk muzzles

dipping to dribble water;

no more duck bottoms bobbing

skyward.

Moon and sun pass over

in their high processionals

but leave no prints.

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Stars are frozen in reflection.

How many circuits now

till thaw and hooves stirring

mud and buttercups?

(c) Copyright 2000. The Christian Science Publishing Society


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