We're never prepared for snow,

the streets and sidewalks, covered; 

everything is stilled and the bare trees.

It snows and the sound dies.

Late for class, only halfway there

and my shoes were soaked.

An armful of books, the sky the color of misery

and it laid there. 

Beet-red. Feathered.

Stilled and the bare trees.

I turned back in my footsteps;

my shoes were soaked,

it snows and the sound dies.

We're never prepared for snow.

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