Angels in the Snow

The fall on ice,

bruise on bone,

tear to tendon,

has settled beyond reach,

in the lower domains.

 

For now,

it’s waddle along,

rest it,

refrain

from movement

that elicits pain.

 

But I must declare,

lying obediently,

in this state of rest,

pain is aroused,

no matter what I do

or don’t.

 

With fields of snow,

in rapturous abundance,

beckoning from every window,

I’ll waddle out,

and take my chances.

And if I fall,

make angels in the snow.

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