July 27, 2019

Millennia it slept.           

Still, dark, cold.           

Under a taut white skin,           

Smooth and thin in places -           

Thick, tough, ridged in others.          

Aeons of silence.           

No breath of wind could reach it.           

No shaft of sun.           

It waited.            

Aglow in ghostly half-light half of each year,                  

Then suspended in months of polar night.     



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