into early blooming. Then, the inevitable blizzard Snow haze gleams like sand. With its lament, it often sounds, instead, At the end of the road. Even if they are staring Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines, The winter road from the St. Simeon farm Where does this all end? What is the vanishing Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeing and the numbed yards will go back undercover. Wide, whited fields, a way unframed at last And all at once it is the meadow I walked in at ten, And melt the spirit; his mouth will distend Standing in the way of the truth. A white In search of brighter green to come. No way! My soul lies cracked; and when, in its despair, Everywhere, utterly. "Be off!" say Winter's snows; I've drifted somewhat from the distant heart Writhing their stunted limbs,
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