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The Void of White

An endless void of white
Swirling, turning, tossing left and right
Flurries fall onto the ground
So softly you can’t hear a sound

Cold glass the only barrier
Between icicles and the mittens’ carrier
Just waiting for Mother to find the hat
She doesn’t know where she left it at

Delicate lines, perfect shapes
The snow millions of flakes create
Crystals climb up the door
Daring to reach the frame and more

She sits at the window and looks quietly
At the great expanse of the white sea
Cold and exciting
Crisp and inviting

As snow in the wintertime often can be




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