| It Was Beginning Winter |
It was beginning winter, An in-between time. The landscape still partly brown: The bones of weeds kept swinging in the wind, Above the blue snow.
It was beginning winter, The light moved slowly over the frozen field, Over the dry seed-crowns, The beautiful surviving bones. Swinging in the wind.
Light traveled over the wide field; Stayed. The weeds stopped swinging. The mind moved, not alone, Through the clear air, in the silence.
Theodore Roethke (1908-1963) Poet
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