gather us now
at fingerposts &
streetlamps in the fir
bone crunching the
frostcrust snow
under our woolen
scarlet, some
edges cut thin
"how do you do?"
"i am well, and you?"
"fine, i couldn't
be better."
"it's cold, we should
have a bit of tea."
— and so forth
and so on as the
sleigh bells silver
their ever closer in
a pale empress coming
could you not
see all is well as
might have been?
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