I am not the swirling cold
rushing frightened, scraping leaves
I am not the worried tree
naked, anxious and despairing of warmth
Neither abandoned playground nor
friendless swing
Nor lonely bench nor
dormant cabin am I
I am the being, sentient
Lord of Nature
Time is indifferent to me
My light recedes and all my days are strangers
When winter falls, it falls on me
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