Like wingless feathers of a million swans
the snow comes floating down, lands and nestles,
silence in silence, extending whiteness
far and wide: that I’ve seen this before, seen

It more than once, seen it as a child, seen
it as a young man, an older one, too,
only serves to make it mysterious
in marvelous ways, a stranger sameness

Of white on white and silence in silence,
one I watch transfixed as the gray cat does,
witness a process I have watched before
at other revolutions of our globe

The quiet of snow falling, sentiment
Of beauty’s enduring nearness, swan sent

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