Winter is Coming

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The sky is gray.
The clouds are a mass.
The darkened sun looks grim.
Snowflakes fall in every shape,
As the yellow grass bends in the wind,
Wiithout a sound to be heard,
Or a thing to be seen,
The stillness is growing,
Coming on as a dream,
The dread of winter is coming forth,
To spring I look ahead,
The days are growing ever short,
As I hope for winter to end.





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