My nose is running like a sieve,
Unlike the stoic tree outside
Who mostly doesn't mind the pummeling of winter.
I cower inside fearful of the accumulation
Of the blowing white flecks
Needing removal from the sidewalk.
The big strong tree could rescue me,
Remove the snow with a few sweeps of its arms,
But like I said, the tree’s a stoic.
It will just stand there and watch
And not lift a finger,
Pretending to ignore me.
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