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Snow Fort

January 27th, 2011 by Magdalena Tabor

The day tastes of black currant tea.
A woodsy offering
Steeped in reflection.
Stone cold if left too long;
It’s porcelain cup
Chipped at the lip.
I traverse the trail at my door
With eyes only,
Sipping my past,
Contented to stay.
The snow fort is stockpiled
With useless ammunition;
Cannonballs fused into one.

Magdalena Tabor

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