Thundersnow in suburbia
Glimmerings of panel trucks and roundabouts
Buckling the blue spruce standing vigil in the boulevard
A metric ton of moisture topping four foot drifts
It’s the feast day of Wulfric of Haselbury
Anchorite monk and medieval seer
Rocking the hair shirt, confidant of King Stephen
Cell hard against the village church
Reciting psalms in a bath of cold water
Buried twice per dictum of the Bishop of Bath
And celebrated with folk and jazz
Feast day of an ascetic
Forgone of hunting with hawks and hounds
Line of ramblers barely visible
The dappling of winter surmised
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