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Alone with the Snow
Hands left before the chill of snow,
Bitter and hard, like the icy shards
open in the frosty cold.
My shovel hits mirrors, and they shatter
Before my open driveway.
The world is like a frozen river,
Slow and lazy in the wind.
Alone in the silence, I wished that I
Could stay with the snow,
With the crisp wind that blows
In accordance with the brittle ice.
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This poem was written when I was shoveling snow one winter morning. The quietness of the streets, normally filled with loud cars and noise, inspired me and my personal love of the peacefulness of winter.
I like to read classic novels, write poetry, play my viola, and listen to classical music.