Black snow falls in summer
Alone in a field.
Sitting in snow.
A teacher waits for his pupils
That never come.
He finds them in the trees
Waving in the breeze.
Howling out answers to questions
He never asks.
The air is biting
The wind is bitter
The answers don’t last
And the time grows colder.
He raises but a finger
Hushed silence.
He lowers the finger
And the universe turns.
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