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Soon the fish will come.
Soon the seals will dance beneath the ice.
A warmer glory will rise,
Pale against the pastel
Cold blue backdrop.
Softer fingers will reach out,
A gentle touch of life
And fire withheld.
The wasteland empty, frozen,
Will not relent its heart
Give up or give out.
But gone the icy welcome,
A knife cut razor glare
Usurped by lucid reason.
And soon the fish will come.
And soon the seals will dance.