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Overheard In A Storm

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Green leaves shiver
while veins run cold.
Frost swirls in the air,
the dead tree stands bold.

How long? How long till the sun?
Ice is forming.
"We are many, we are one."

White glass sparks the sky:
a fine blazing line.
Branches rustle, whisper:
"all this is mine."

Fire grasps the first chilled victim:
unexpectedly, the leaves begin curling.
The tree of winter dances,
writhing, twisting, whirling--

"We are many, we are one."





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