As we drift around the bitter wastelands of snow,
Looking for ice that lets the light in,
This one will be beautiful,
And it isn't.
We have bothered to uncover our camera,
Our finger doesn't sting with cold yet,
And though there's little to see,
We waste a few pictures,
That cost us nothing.
Nothing costs us anything anymore,
Now that we have grown careful and wise.
And we do the greatest things we have ever done,
Knowing how small they are.
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