Our hands reach towards one another
Like streams in early spring
We, both of us, are still, hold our ground
Yet trickle, flow, rush
To cross that barren stretch
Of grey, late-winter snow.
The uncertain terrain
Preaches the benefits of the hearth
The wild beasts
Feast at the bones of better men
But we, both of us,
Keep watch for that herald of the great thaw
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