The dark crow caws,
Fluffed against the freezing,
His breath shows wispy white.
Ice tipped wings, held still grimly,
The only thing not pallid.
So cold, the clock hands freeze,
Icicles obscure the time.
Tree branches weighted down,
Rubbing together frigidly.
A colorless path through the coldness,
The ice on the river will always be
Much more fluid when broken.

01/17/2005

Posted on 01/18/2005
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