The Square in Snow
tin tempts the metal smith
towards sculpture she does
not yet know, snowflakes
sing a muffled tune as dawn
yawns open its sleepy pink
semi-gorgeous mouth,
accordion music like a stream
flushes cobbled streets fresh
and clean, this crisp breeze
is blessed and old men
hold calloused hands
to stroll
no one is here alone despite
the freezing pristine
whiteness of new snow,
and the statue of shiny tin
elegant in the quiet square,
stands robust faces us
like our recent dream
bundled warm
in this unremitting
cold.
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