Washing Off The Snow Poem by James McLain

here he was;
she had him finally,
a new husband who has married a wife
whom he has found beautiful
and that which she carried underneath
for him she made transparent silkinly thus so.
and it was thus that its pain increased
and being wise as she had listened
placed him in a condition of the constant awakening.
Its wife was
soft as the fairest of fair and when foam on top it floats
and necessary made of its sleep,
but the needs of the hand he could hardly restrain until
after her sleep, long nights and day.
She has served its lunch heavy pendulums back and forth
independently hypnotically until the husband
Its shoulder has walked with it many long miles.
while it's shadow passed back and forth from the door.
It has often awaked their up in on towards the half of mid night,
hard its pains, beings touch
with the elbow against her high, a motivating force.
Soon she has it as she planed it all;
inside of she, so many times, the sun may never rise.
It has disappeared, its seed a liquid sociocultural of once the ghost
down a single wall, daily washing off the snow.