The windbreak holds the snow In the arms of its boughs Like a nurse holding up a sheet To give her dying patient Some privacy as he undresses But I see through them To the curtains she has drawn (the only art she still practices) So she can sleep away
Running Past a Forlorn Farm
Running Past a Forlorn Farm
Running Past a Forlorn Farm
The windbreak holds the snow In the arms of its boughs Like a nurse holding up a sheet To give her dying patient Some privacy as he undresses But I see through them To the curtains she has drawn (the only art she still practices) So she can sleep away