Hoary morning
late moon
early sun
gently easing the day
into being
frost and snow
glittering sparkling dancing magical
turning dry branches
into wands
in the grass
pressing shrinking
a doe lies
ears flat
hoping beyond hope
not to be seen
powerless vulnerable afraid
eyes big
as I pass by
how many times I see her
each day
in many forms
many places
how often I am her
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