Lion in the Salt Mine

(In the winter who can know

Which is salt and which is snow?)

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Bank where the swallows come to nest in the cliffy holes

Not forgotten after four years away,

And the garter snakes coiling their slow way in and out

Stealing the swallow’s eggs.

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Dust on the prairie road printed with lion’s toes

And crossed with a line or two of rusted blood

Limp lifted paw and rolled in the dust:

Run over by that blasted truck last night.