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Cold Night

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A pine blossom,
a fragrant bud sticky from sap,
shivers,
as the bitter winds whine eerily through the
iron boughs, the dark trees silhouetted against a
hard navy sky.
Even the stars seem to be piercing
Through a layer of deep cold night.
The moon is almost completely hidden
by her black veil, so that
only her crescent brow
peeks out.
A winter night begins
and I think how wicked the frost can be
when it seals around a helpless garden,
crushing each flower,
one by one.



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