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Thursday, January 8, 2015

Snow Dance

Rating: 3.5
Black brooms of trees sweep the sky clean;
Sweep the house fronts,
And heave them bleak in sleep.
High up the empty moon
Spills her vacuity.

I dance.
My long black shadow
Weaves an invisible pattern of pain.
The snow
Is embroidered with my happiness.
Evelyn Scott
Topic(s) of this poem: snow
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1/19/2021 3:00:18 AM # 1.0.0.401