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(a rubaiyat written in iambic octameter )
by Jon Beherends

I have hope for the clean, white snow.
It brings joy to me, this I know,
For the dance it does to the ground
Soul in hand, I sit for the show

5 With tenacity like a hound
And a message ever so profound
The snowflakes fall reflecting light
While silence and I gather 'round

My weariness shrinks at the sight
10 My soul I now fly like a kite;
On dark wings it flys to the stars
I am lost in this silent flight

(c) 2001 The Breaking Room