Naveed Akram (15 December 1973 / London, England)
Snow is a sentence of feeling,
It is language of mighty thought
And the thinkers have much demand
For the snow to indent the window
Of their chiming lone tongue.
So they speak to the God of Snow?
No, the Sun-God is the worst to call.
He shall murder and madden as much
As mercy is not shown. His plumber
Has goings-on in the window
With a cleaning instrument.
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