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Poems

The Lost Word

16 January 2016

9:00 AM

16 January 2016

9:00 AM

I know it cold, the scene in the woods,
the grey-toned sky, and snow—
the sudden clearing in the underbrush

through which a fox now steps, her auburn brush
a-ziggety-zagging, as if she would
erase her trail, though her tracks in the snow


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