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February 7
by Aamie Burnley

snow falling fine as mist
earth kissed at ermine shrouded morn
winter's breath borne vaporous
on the broad crystal laden back of night
standing quiet picture still
with morning poised to shatter
just beyond yonder hill

diamond dappled tree fingers
barely bending twisting
sending shivers through the dawn
combing the spindled gray tresses
of the dwindling storm

soft snow creatures
features gathering their disguise
lashes veil the laughing eyes
lips tongues thrusting
poised to catch a delicate dusting
of platinum confetti confections
falling from the skies
a sly surmise
the connection accidental
even february can be gentle


Aamie writes: “I grew up in the rural south, the middle child of middle class working people. In my family, boredom was not allowed, and in the absence of television and digital entertainment, I turned to the woods and streams, where I was alternately a daring explorer or a forest nymph. You will feel this close to nature connection in many of my poems. I was the little girl who lived in the funeral home. I learned early that life can be short, and that there are many ways to die besides growing old and giving up the ghost. These observations slowly shaped my worldview into something of an eclectic existentialist, and my work is tempered with a deep loneliness of heart and longing for rational answers to what Albert Camus calls ‘the unreasonable silence of the world’.

“The muse of poetry has always been close at hand. I was trained in the art of elocution, and had access to a wonderful library of classic literature. Now, as an overeducated dabbler, I can resolve all the loves and losses of life as I condemn them to that peaceful grave of the page.

“I am a single parent of four of God’s most nearly perfect creations, and certainly the most mischievous and exasperating human males who ever walked. I have one grandson, who is, in fact, the most precious thing to ever draw the breath of life. My sons and I live in the home my grandfather built in 1930, and I now run the family business: a short string of funeral homes.”


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