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Click hereWinter is old
and cold
to the bone
That ancient word hoar frost cackled
as his old man's fire crackled
snapped alone
on a farm of a wintry night
White in black is swirls and wind dyed
dark iced roads and wrecks T-fried
icicles flicker red
from the abyss
of winter's dark Abbess
If you are lucky enough
a popsicle is still possible
But this stanza is my favorite:
That ancient word hoar frost cackled
as his old man's fire crackled
snapped alone
on a farm of a wintry night
Nice work
and always find your poems well worth reading. I do miss your public comments...always searching and obviously from the heart. Thanks for sharing this!