And half-starved foxes shake and paw
Swaying in unison beneath the snow,Swaying in unison beneath the snow,
Seems reflected in the infinite of the lamps.Mère and Père Chose are 
walking away from the
As if your human shape were what the stormThat square—Oh, 56 x 56
Dreaming time has reversed—and you,on their own little seat cushions, wearing 
soft caps
No name, no meaning. Oh my friends,Not daring to oppose
Clear-voiced despite its years, strong, eloquent—<BR>It's snowing, it's 
returning to a town
In Florida, it's strawberry season—<BR>In Florida, it's strawberry season—<BR>
To listen, by the sputtering, smoking fire,In the sound of the snow. What the 
countless
Comes up with as a means to its own end.Of Boyg of Normandy . . .


[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]



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