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The sun comes up, and soon

The night’s thin fall of snow

Fades from the grass as if

It could not wait to go.


But look, a lank line lingers

Beyond the lawn’s one tree,

Safe in its shadow still,

Held momentarily.


Delighted my daughter runs

Twisting from my embrace

To touch the fragile snow

Before it leaves no trace.


Dick Davis



© Dick Davis; originally printed in
The Hudson Review. Reprinted by
permission of the author.

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