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Icicles from the down spout,
Also on arbor limbs all wrapped about,
Needles of the pine are crystal spikes,
Too, white branches against red barns pikes.
Sleet, snow, freezing rain and again,
Those icicles blew almost horizontal skein.
Yucca plant traded white blossums fresh,
For snow's collar those spikes immesh.
We never stop holding our childish way,
To be so caught with icicle's wonder today.
December 5, 2002 |
