The sun comes up
Past the pale cliffs,
Through the blue snow.
Specks of flakes float.
The grass spins gold
By the old crib
Deer nest in now.
In the true tale,
No one guessed right.
His name’s not known.
The girl grows tall.
Her hair spins gold.
Soft shades, soft dawn,
Deer browse old snow.
Spring’s not far off,
And new shoots show.
Friday, February 19, 2021
Small Man in Light Snow
