Their best in winter's snows and wind and cold.
Alone I stand out in the freezing night
And look up at the stars and feel how old
This world is and is not. Dichotomies
Like these are occupying me of late.
I'm of the cast of mind such that it please,
Not anger me to sit and contemplate,
While crystals made of ice pummel and sting
My face, how things and people never are
As simple as they seem. Each little thing
They do results from infinite, bizarre
Tempestuous processes, chaos-tossed
Until at last they're frozen fast as frost.
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