The treetops glisten 
from the evening snow, 
the morning wind whispers 
and the clouds are low. 
The birds flew south 
and the rivers froze, 
and I'm standing in my winter clothes.  
I wonder where
the time comes from 
and I wonder where it goes.  
Yesterday morning
I was grasping at thorns, 
and today I'm holding a rose. 

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