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Rated: E · Poetry · Biographical · #2291267
Don't like the weather? Wait a bit.

The world is blurred:
encased in ice.
Pine branches shattered--
littering the back fence:
the weight
beyond bearing.
The squirrel deftly climbs
the frozen slinky
only to land
in icicle rain.
Supposed to hit fifty
this afternoon:
just wait.
It's winter in Michigan.





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