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Yesterday hills and woods were gray,
And boughs were bare and brown,
But all last night silently, silently
Snow came down.
All night long over the fields,
Quiet and soft and slow,
With never a footprint, steadily, steadily
Walked the snow.
Now at dawn there is nothing but snow,
Nothing but whiteness, now,
Except the flame of a redbird's wing
On a feathery bough;
Never a sound in all the land;
Pure silence, through and through,
Save for the chatter of chickadees
Debating what to do.
This poem is in the public domain.
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Nancy Byrd Turner (1880 - 1971) was born in Virginia. A descendant of both Thomas Jefferson and Pocohantas, Nancy began writing poetry as a child. She studied to become a teacher, and did teach for a few years, but eventually she became a magazine editor. During the course of her career, she published 15 books, several songs, and her work appeared regularly in the leading magazines of her day. Late in her life, Nancy became a freelance writer and a popular lecturer.
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69Dorcas:
A family discussion in the winter. Delightful. Thank you.
Posted 01/15/2012 07:30 PM
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transitions:
I often thought the chickadees were debating what to do; they have such loud and earnest chats; lovely poem.
Judy
Posted 01/15/2012 12:21 PM
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Ginny C.:
The poem's rhythm is slow, soft, and steady and the tone is gentle, like the hush of a snowfall. Very lovely.
Posted 01/15/2012 12:19 PM
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