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There’s nothing special about the first snow
It happens this time each year
There’s nothing that we really need to hear
There’s nothing happening we don’t already know
And yet there’s something special to this snow
The clearly marked finale of the summer cheer
The start of winter, the true new year
Before the last of the flowers even fades
That slow fat drop of clustering flakes
The grey wet sky denying sun
The portent of the winter now to come
The changes to the look of the place
There’s nothing special about first snow
Except each year when it says “here we go.”

OctPoWriMo #23 (missed a few days)

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