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The corkscrew willow bends, a tiny bead
of ice falls to my palm, an ornament
of frozen grass, this season’s only need.

Some choose these days to slip away. Our greed
protests, deprived of habits of slow torment;
the corkscrew willow bends, a tiny bead.

Some bake and fuss according to a creed
passed down from bishoprics; a government
of frozen grass, this season’s only need.

Shoots of kindness rise beyond the screed
of incivilities that would resent
the corkscrew willow bends, a tiny bead.

What nation, church or temple has agreed
to soften and uphold heart’s parliament
of frozen grass, this season’s only need?

Let us, this once, adhere to Nature’s speed
of gratitude, good will, and merriment.
The corkscrew willow bends a tiny bead
of frozen grass, this season’s only need.

~~~

This poem is dedicated to the southern Ontario ice storm of 2013.

© Elaine Stirling, 2013

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