Thursday, December 6, 2012

Snow Country Weavers By James Welch

A time to tell you: things are well.
Birds went south years ago.
But one returned, a blue-wing teal
wild with news of his mother's ego.
.
Mention me to friends, Say:
Wolves are starving at my door,
The coldness drives them from their prey,
No meat can be sought from forest floor.
.
Spiders busy weaving threads
to bandage up the day, and more,
Those webs were filled with words
that tumbled messages into wind.

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