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The Tracery

The Tracery


The ice traces the trees

Like a boy on his knees

Tracing a picture in a book.


When he asks his father to look

He sighs and puts on his glasses.

How soon his enthusiasm passes.


Father and son bend their necks

To a book of pictures, a book of checks.

Winters and winters hence


A man leaves the house he rents

And walks across the yard.

Life has grown too hard.


But his death shakes the ice from the tree,

Revealing the real beneath the tracery.

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