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Walking After A Snowstorm: December 4, 1995 MAG
Sweet night, cold and clear
enfolds me with gentle arms.
Snow, so even and delicate on the dark ground
puffs beneath my trodding heels.
I shiver with awe, thrilling to catch a laden glimpse.
Silver-tinted trees glow below an exultant sky
huddling around the lunar maiden.
Cloud vessels flee,
their silhouettes giving way to effervescent moonlight.
I walk, lightly, for I dare not disturb the perfect blanket,
Not one exquisite inch.
Silken sky gazes on this wintry world, for once, almost jealous.
I gaze on a crystalline scene, its azure splendor ablaze with cold fire.
Jewelry of the night, irreplaceable and precious.
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