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Judging by the wind
it must be a wicked storm;
shadows dance with trees bending low
to kiss the ground
or in deference to the missing sun,
I do not know.

A light flittered by the window,
perhaps a broken star,
the storm might be really mild
where we are and raging
worse in heaven.
I do not know.

Five warm days in a row
in January; that is gift
enough. I’ve seen colder days
in April, but now tonight
there might be snow.
I do not know.

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