The silver light of winter’s dusk

speaks in lullabies for those

with heightened senses,

precarious with present time.

The dark eyed junco takes flight,

gray skies soar above, snow below,

she paints the season’s melody

in trills to coat the soul.

Those who bustle, rush in haste

miss the treasures, surely,

for the open hearts of those

destined for a story.

A tale to tell in verse or prose,

the gift box needn’t matter.

Truths from over and beyond

cascade when eyes shine silver.

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