As snowflakes flutter to unruffled rest,
a silence rare prevails, a perfect peace.
The black-barked trees appear tuxedo-dressed,
and shoveled walk wears stole of curried fleece.
The lamps on poles along the boulevard
glow like a constellation's brightest stars
tucked in blue-velvet skies snow-flecked, not scarred.
Tonight my street is empty, free of cars.
And yet with me there's little peace of mind
as masked I stroll this pristine path alone.
Where does this virus lurk and will it find
me soon? Am I unsafe and in its zone?
The silent snow beguiles this winter night,
induces one to think that all is right.
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