Tag: Gustav Klimt
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Birches
I like to think some boy’s been swinging them.But swinging doesn’t bend them down to stayAs ice-storms do. Often you must have seen themLoaded with ice a sunny winter morningAfter a rain. They click upon themselvesAs the breeze rises, and turn many-coloredAs the stir cracks and crazes their enamelSoon the sun’s warmth makes them shed…