she says
longingly
starring out the window
at the birds
in the budding tree.
it's still February.
a few feet
would be nice,
wouldn't it?
it would i tell her.
we could build a fire.
we could
shovel and sled,
and dig our way out,
hike
up the block
deep into the woods
until we're exhausted.
we could
have a snowball fight.
a good snow
would be nice.
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