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The days are short,

The sun a spark

Hung thin between

The dark and dark.

Fat snowy footsteps

Track the floor,

And parkas pile up

Near the door.

The river is

A frozen place

Held still beneath

The trees’ black lace.

The sky is low.

The wind is gray.

The radiator

Purrs all day.

Image above: Birds In Snow by James A. Mangum.

Words above: January by John Updike.


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