by Ethel Mortenson Davis

On earth
there are no elements
here of humankind
that work in harmony,

but in the whiteness
of snow there are.
The whiteness is like
no other white.

The snowshoe rabbit
this morning looked
brown against it.

White is holy.
It fights back
the grayness
that is human

and wins —
for a few moments.

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Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry

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