With winter’s grasp tight upon the land, Even the frozen soil breathes your name. In every branch that arches low, In snow’s quiet descent upon earth, I find pieces of our forgotten laughter, In the glimmer of a blade of ice.
- Salvatore Quasimodo
With winter’s grasp tight upon the land, Even the frozen soil breathes your name. In every branch that arches low, In snow’s quiet descent upon earth, I find pieces of our forgotten laughter, In the glimmer of a blade of ice.