Of Innocence

Upon the ground, the snow sits neat and white;
No hole nor stain has marked the morning's page.
The clouds have fled and all the fields are bright.
For truth revealed, the storm has set the stage.

Till noon it stays untouched, then doors unlock
And, dressed for law, the jury leave the court.
Their break's too brief; the case is fiercely fought.
A murder suspect waits within the dock.

For months the case runs on, until each side
Is out of speeches. Only facts remain:
She swore to kill a man who must have died,
And on her knife's his blood. Her hope's in vain.

No body found. But till the thaw, no doubt.
Then bullet-ridden bones from snow rose out...
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