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The Steel Suburbs

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Gray sky, brown earth.
Gray houses, brown trees
And street.
Late winter wasteland,
A barren tundra
Of the northern suburbs.

No snow to cushion us,
No rain to nourish us,
No fog.
Only hard, biting wind
And an endless, colorless
Emotionless, unforgiving sky.

When, if, spring should come
I’d like to see
Or hear
The first feeble pioneers of color
Entering a world of drear
As cold and hard as steel.



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so_joyThis teenager is a 'regular' and has contributed a lot of work, comments and/or forum posts, and has received many votes and high ratings over a long period of time. said...
today at 10:27 am:
Amazing work! Superb job! Please read, rate, and comment on my poems! It would mean a lot:) Thanks!
 
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