by Frank Hubeny

A paste of sparkling, sticky snow
clings to the leafless trees.
The sky is cloudy blue and cold.
My eyes look on all these.

This all reflects the mystery
that we are here to see.

That’s when the prophet stopped to praise
with thankfulness and we.
Well, we as well began to praise
with thanks for all we see.


2 Responses to “Paste”


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