Plainfield, Vermont

      The trembling acres on those grounds
Were fit with trees as tall and tall
And swaying high from left to right
As far as I could see, they were.

      They lined the trails of whitest snow
That covered plains and hills atop
A frigid cold that seemed to pierce
The birds that nest so far and high.

      The coldest March I’ve ever seen
With branches stiff on highest trees
That threatened me with distant sounds 
Were ominous with every sway.


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