Cold Snap Haiku

wind sears the skin
on the hillside in the sun
no way out but through

the cold doesn’t burn
when the sun’s eight fingers high
and the wind is still

waited all year for
this white pine, this blue sky
this empty street

Author: Frances Donovan (aka Okelle)

I like poetry, long walks on the beach, and net neutrality. Tending the Garden of Words (www.gardenofwords.com) since 1998.

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