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The Time This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

We turn from the sun, involuntarily
And play with machines as if, bumbling, we can turn back the Earth.
We lose ourselves in frost (it is captivating)
And forget the color green.
The trees are all stained
Something bright bled on their leaves,
The victims outlined in gray shadows of grass
Dead since the breath became visible.
Light fires and make haste – clouds wait for none!
Brew the warmth in copper pots and dream white horizons.
Whisper songs under breath for the air is ice
And forget about beliefs – it is far too cold to argue.
Let’s stay inside some shelter until the snow comes knocking.
Plug up the chimney so no enemy may enter
To tell us that it’s winter – time means nothing to the hidden



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