Squinting in
The toneless haze
Of a White Sabbath,

Willows rise up
Harsh and black
Twixt mist and snow.

The icy path
Threatens, winding
Beside the marsh,

But I, no I
Will not stop
For Winter.

01/06/2002

Author's Note: Cache Valley and the wetlands of the Little Bear

Posted on 01/06/2002
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