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Late in Lent

Late in Lent
comes the Requiem
after winter,
yet still the snow
and clings to branches
not yet heavy
with new leaves.
The choir cuts
to the root
of my being,
rings with first notes
of the first crow
in the morning--
and I hear the past
shudder as shoots
in the winds--
this snow
is blown as dust,
preparing the way
for a future spring
I have not yet

9 Apr 00

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