Winter’s Fiesta
The rhythm of the wind
snakes between pine trees
and forms a winter Conga line
that sway in drunken revelry
Shadows conduct an orchestra
with batons made of moonlight
and cracking limbs drum
primal beats in fevered unison
At center stage a trio of icicles sing
into microphones of swirling frost
they melt in perfect harmony
as the silent night applauds
Poetry by Hans Bump
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Written on 2012-01-08 at 21:11
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