Foothills of Lafayette and Cannon

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The woods were silent,

Heavy with the fallen snow,

Pale from sad tidings.

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When no strength remains,

Yet we are faced with walking,

Under broken trees…

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Not a single birch,

Could face the whipping winter,

or the mortal cold.

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In deep snow chasms,

Rushing as icy water,

Where are you, brother?

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I know we were meant,

To grow older together,

Like holiday firs.

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Frozen teardrops hang,

At the base of every branch,

In your memory.

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Entire mountains,

Brought to their knees before us,

Mourning this loss.

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I have to believe,

That somewhere deep underneath,

There can still be joy.

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Looking towards the ridge,

Waiting for some kind of sign,

Wanting for answers.

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I still hear your voice,

Calling out to me faintly,

When it is quiet.

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Reaching an impasse,

My heart takes the blow again,

Agonizing time.

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Sometimes no matter,

Wanting or pleading or quiet,

We will have to wait.

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Only memories,

Cherished, painful and fleeting,

Roll in and roll out.

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I watched a sunrise,

Once burn away a dense fog,

Leaving fresh, sweet dew.

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It is fair to wish,

For a gentle spring morning,

In lieu of your smile.