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"To Say, The Dead..." by Joe DiMino To say The Dead of Winter A mere topside observation The seed beneath the cover Breathes and having light Of its own imagined, And closeness for warm cuddle, Perhaps on some level It reads; a well-worn novel Of spring growth (a polychrome-romp); Or if the light turned out With darker vision a scenery One of woesThe Midnight Horror Of Droughta dusty volume Off Mothers shelf Of mean blows Perhaps, someday, Nature that is, Will be more candid With all that is in her Trusting care And broadly impart knowledge Of a greater intimacy: Add to her library Less elements and seasons Form to unconscious reasons An apparent outward evolution From basic souls Leave a comment