Cricket201901

(Lars) #1
The sky exhales in snowflakes
and we breathe in cold puffs of air
through the woolen scent of scarves.

Snow crystals land with hardly a sound,
as if holding on to secrets;
and in this hushing, we stand,

and listen
to their
whispers.

by Yvonne Gleason


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text © 2018 by Yvonne Gleason 5

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