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Snow Stories

I paged a book this morning,
Printed on fresh fallen snow.
Each step a new tale borning,
Big racked bucks and white tailed doe.

I trailed a fox a hunting,
Saw him dine on pheasant too.
A rabbit moonlight stunting.
Snow told where partridge flew.

The fingered feet of squirrel,
Raccoon slow to hibernate.
Each trail, each page uncurl,
Each sign, food, to meditate.

- William Malewitz

All hunters aren't hunting

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