On a hill - as dark as the midnight snow,
Where the blackbird broods and lays its wings.
Through the trees - bare as the covered fields,
Where foxes stir and chase their prints.
And past the dale - deep as violet dawn,
The North winds blow and shake the mountains.
And through the mist - thick as the winter air,
Where icicles quiver and pierce the ground.
And as rivers halt, sheeted in ice,
And the owl emerges from his hourly sleep.
And as the blackbird sighs, shivering scared,
There he bows and lays his wings.
All birds and lakes have come to rest.
All wind and foxes feed in silence.
And like the snow, swirling the hill;
The blackbird rises and sings his song.
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