Snow is white
Snow is white, tell us wise men.
But this is not how it is for poets;
For them, it is otherwise,
For in their eyes...
White is the snow
That in winter, from above, unfurls,
Settling down below,
Underneath the tall green firs,
Where children, glove-clad,
Gather and mould it into men,
And men, love-sad,
Wish to be young again.
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