Tiny apples in the snow
Dropped where branches let them go
Frozen still they'll rot in time
for Spring when worms will make the climb
Sleek crows natter their dissent
Over where the murderer went
Footprints melt under the sun
Crossed where wolves and deer have run
Back to the city the man slips away
Crawls under sheets that were so neatly made
Yesterday morning by his late wife.
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