8/52

New York

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March arrived
but spring is still sleeping

Falling snow
quickly shoveled
Crystal salt
turns to slush
then frozen to ice

This is the pattern of winter

My boots are worn
my body itches
From too much sweaters
with lots of stiches

But I can still
hear the birds sing
Ride on subways
where boys are drumming

Even the man
on Union Square
with a chessboard
and two chairs
is still there

Waiting for you
to play with him

This is the pattern of winter

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