Poetry Pick

WAITING OUT WINTER by Jill Solnicki Ontario, Canada

The old oak creaks in the cold; its arthritic arms and scaly hands shudder. Sometimes a squirrel pokes from its hole, not today. It's too cold for squirrels, for birds, for clouds; the sky is a white arctic wasteland nothing walks on. When will the sun burrow out of the horizon, print the sky with busy yellow paws? From DAYBREAK #5, 1989

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