the ice blue angels pass in revue
the snowy exits shine
we're in the dream of winter now
and of the glacial pine.
I cannot mend the fleeting snow
I cannot reason why
the snowy alphabets will go
the light birds as they fly
gone is the Spring we thought we knew
immortal and unafraid
cling to the branch like blossoms do
the last of their peach parade.
mary angela douglas 28 december 2022;2 february 2023
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