![]() One does not conquer winter. In exchange for spring’s songbirds, a wintry creek’s gurgle muted below an icy cover, like an elusive memory —a forgotten dream awakening. Summer’s warm breeze Met with a frigid gale, blowing in a frozen ravine. And the erasure of autumn’s brilliance beneath a frosted quilt. But looking closer, crystalline lily pads —frozen-- inverted above a timeless stream. A lesson written in ice. No, one does not conquer winter . . . One learns from it.
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