11.18.2007

Snowstorm

When words,
They don't come,
And the frost on the window,
Doesn't give any comfort,
Barricaded against the outside,
We huddle together for warmth,
My thoughts and I,
And we think of you,
In your own snowstorm on the other side of our small farming town,
Can we make it?
Can everyone come out,
With blinking eyes and scrunched up faces,
And take stock of things,
Of the frost on the windows,
Of the houses they leave,
And decide that outside,
It's better here,
And it really is important.

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