The tree – again! – it’s roaring white

Firing snow into the air

Lean long branches flash, declare: 

‘The word, the world, is white’ Delight

In overcoming glints of green

Within its depths, it will be seen

And seen as snow and blossom white.

The coming evening, easing wind

Fails to calm the boughs sequinned

With blossom – till another night

And sleep curtains you from our sight

And then we dream – of blossom white. 

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