Stubborn winter drags on and on it seems
transiently coming and going, an itinerant artist
drawing frigid lines on a dull grey canvas
while I … aimless, I sit and stare in wonder.
Have I ever seen the sky descend so gently?
But then, how could I even know?
Is it possible that each flake might evoke
such a distinctive image floating in my mind?
Of course not. For how could it do so?
It is not for the enduring elements of this world
to impress themselves on my ephemeral thoughts
but for me to pay them the heed that they deserve.
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