Monday, January 31, 2011


The days are short,
   The sun a spark
Hung thin between
   The dark and dark.

Fat snowy footsteps
   Track the floor,
And parkas pile up
   Near the door.

The river is
   A frozen place
Held still beneath
   The trees' black lace.

The sky is low.
   The wind is gray.
The radiator
   Purrs all day.

-John Updike, 1932-2009

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