...I flow through Autumn’s riot of color like a blackbird with jeweled eyes spun
of earth sky and sea, not to find Winter’s death but seeking release
from the tired Summer’s hazy lethargy and pale green similitude.
I breathe the pure essence of Winter’s cold breath and drink greedily
as I climb silent hills drifting over sterile fields lit by the moon, covered with a silver veil...
Poem by Charles Lampert
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