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she of Ojibwa



beauty, oh beauty

that opens my soul


twirling snowflakes cluster

on the silver pond

frozen

soon to hide the icy circle’s mocking

of a sparkling night sky —


hushed to hark

an angel’s voice

beyond steady reeds


sings alone


beauty, oh beauty

that opens my soul


she of Ojibwa’s past and morrow

her soft voice as a cupped hand —

gathering snowflakes

as perfect as the rising moon

settling with love on the silver pond

for this reason I am alive

today


beauty, oh beauty

that opens my heart


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