The old storm windows
Rattled all night in the cold wind
Driving us out and
Onto the futon in the study
I'm not sure where Spring was driven to
But tonight we are back in our bed and
Those original sliders are
Silently frosted over and
I am attempted to write in the frost
A reminder
To the winter wind
On this the eighteenth day of March
That we won the Battle of the Bulge
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