Poetry By
Robert Wooten
Published on: DATE
Snow and the Chance of It
It's going to snow acknowledgeably, they say, and is already snowing above the clouds. Though none ever dare to say it aloud, as the weather behaves so changeably, and the same report just goes on and on, how difficult it is to heed the warning when the same one has been issued each morning for three days and may be, already, gone. Folks tend to lighten up when they don't know what's to come. Clouds may mass out of sight or, afterwards, come in a different light as they redevelop, there, in silent show of hidden strength—as Alexander's rear, holding back—and, suddenly, draw near.
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