(der så viser sig IKKE at handle om gammel sne)
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THERE’S a patch of old snow in a corner | |
That I should have guessed | |
Was a blow-away paper the rain | |
Had brought to rest. | |
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It is speckled with grime as if | |
Small print overspread it, | |
The news of a day I’ve forgotten— | |
If I ever read it.
Robert Frost |
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