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          No winter picnic 
            Camping date, iced gusts sweep in, 
              smoke follows beauty, I say. 
              You smile, stomp out cold, twirl  
              and spin. I coax fire to life,  
              twigs grow bright, subside, die 
              to glow. I blow coals back 
              from black, make flames rise, 
              spit. You whirl past, flash 
              a grin —  slip away, too fast, 
              me, too slow. Just then, 
            a branch of snow lets go. 
              
              
              
              
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