Mid-December
It comes every year
On an an age-old system
The months are a part
Of time measurement
The strange clock ticks
Weather changes as earth
Rotates and revolves
It's not yet heavy winter
This year of rain and sun
Just one small snow didn't last
This home has traveled
On two feet and dreaming
Since it gained life and vision
There may be no tomorrow
That thought grows into next
Or almost a list of possibilities
Barry G. Wick
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