A rush of hope, a dash of faith,
Morning's glory rises above all.
Wintry breezes, crisp and cold,
Brush the leaves with their touch.
Weak gold lights spark the eyes,
Their revelation the budding clouds.
Soft grey hanging like gossamers,
Spun from the finest of spindles.
Sheltering firs blink and shiver,
Frost-crusted petals huddle close.
Tiny sparrowhawks cuddle together
As coldness assaults their nesty home.
Threatening black clouds hover
On the edge of the world like
A black ominous mass of fog.
Doors shut, windows close.
The storm comes.















Comments
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I think I suffer from chronic indecisiveness, but I'm not sure.
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We are the sanninja!
I has a photography account ---> [link]
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If all my friends were to jump off a bridge, I wouldn't jump with them. I would be at the bottom to catch them
~Anon
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We are the sanninja!
I am the lite ninja *chocolate milk*
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