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  • Gary Hunter

They call you Winter, old man - Mar 8, 2022

the snowy beard

that hides the cold

deep voice that frames

the ice blue eyes

your red-cheeked January

shivers inside a white blanket


but it’s March now

you don’t look well

the beard is muddy

eyes drip sadness

your softer words

lost in bird song


come April

I sit with you

on your deathbed

and we both hear it


laughter

from newborns

of all creatures

twisting in the sun

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