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Ode to snow

Give me a blanket of new-fallen snow, suitable for stopping by woods in the bleak midwinter. I want the kind that bends the birches and buries our earthly scars in pearly white. Let the wind drop with the temperature, the clouds draw back to reveal the milky edge of our galaxy spilling out across the moonless sky. Or, if there is a moon, let it be the color of new ice, so that the trees throw their shadows with a suggestion of blue across the stark white snow. 

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