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As he walked lonely,
without regard for direction,
he stopped.
He bent over,
suspended in curiousity,
to ponder the complications of snow.
Its delicate pattern,
its notorious reputation;
"How busy it is," he thought...
wondered, "why the intricacy?"
Its crystalline reflections
devoid of symmetry, leaving him dizzy.
Then he stood,
looked up
and wondered once more
“what for?”
why does he wonder at all?
“I think I’m silly”
He revealed that option to himself,
and just before disappointment set in
he thought once more...
“why not?”
as he had nothing better to do anyway...
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