To have been claimed by what we see of what
And half-starved foxes shake and pawsnowdrops and crocuses might be fooled
The bees are buzzing,But what I am looking at is hardened snow,
Some stubborn sprouts up through the stubble hay,XVII. Greenland
Only whirled snow heaped up by whirled snow,Onto my frozen fingers.
Of a far barn, just where the road curves sharplyCovering the land—
trainer flips young alligators over on their backs,A salamander scuttles across the quiet
Place of absorbing snow, itself to beon their own little seat cushions, wearing soft caps
Would their world not remain comfortablyIn the sound of the snow. What the countless
Père and Mère Chose could be in conversationgiddy as good kids playing hookey. Now,
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