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DOOR

by W. Mahlon Purdin

The snow is drifting all right
Beside trees and bushes
Creating iridescent light
As the Moon passes
Through another phase.

And she's sleeping
With breathing deep
My tormentor, my hypocrite;
She's resting, she's asleep.

The wind is listless
The flakes are faultless
As they stack up one by one
Like grains of sand in an hourglass
Outside the door.

12/30/1975

Posted on 08/17/2009
Copyright © 2024 W. Mahlon Purdin

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