winter

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in a veil of frost

and silver,

she moves always

inward,

pulling all things,

all beings,

towards silence;

draping the skies,

softening the sun,

only as she pleases;

etching cuts and burns

on trees

and earth,

she picks the stars

and studs the land;

she is a sculptor,

a blade,

a pocket of crystals;

she transforms the rain

drop,

sits upon a carved,

see-through throne;

she is a visionary,

a minimalist;

in black and white

she dreams;

she knows

her time is temporary;

she does not aim to please.