More wondrous than a winter scene
Are mortal seeing eyes
That weave the tapestries of light
To make the scene materialize.
The endless snowy wilderness
Of buried bush and burdened tree
Would be a formless void of night
Had you not eyes to see.
Gay blossoms in the springtime,
The frutage in the fall,
You would grope for in a limbo
Where they grow beside the wall.
(First published in Along the Lane: Dedicated to the memory of Thomas William Larsen, who lost his life in World War II)
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