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snow day, a poem

the rooftops remind me of powdered donuts

and the ground is blanketed in a white slate

which brought me back here to you

(and of course, the appeals of Billy Collins helped)

sure, you're different with your orderly dividers of space

you're inviting and emit a welcoming warmth

which the flurries outside seem to oppose

I suppose I understand the fancy people have for it,

a white Christmas, full of hot chocolate's by the frosted window

and unwrapping presents by the fire

winter wonderlands with it's balls of water not yet melted

but also not completely frozen

somewhere in between

where throwing them at each other is neither hostile

nor cruel

but playful

where a couple of rocks, a carrot and some twigs

become appendages and facial features

and judgment of fashion becomes irrelevant

as long as your warm

the only weather which brings even the angels out to play,

I understand it now

but still

I prefer my white on the page

where the letters drift down like flakes

and sometimes land together in words

that make me smile

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