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Winter
February 8, 2012
The frosty carpet grass sticks,
Unforgivingly, beneath my feet.
The sharp fresh air flatters my lungs.
But for a cold, modest breeze, the air holds still.
I can almost smell it.
Winter’s careful workings,
Its gentle, passive movements,
Play with nature’s purpose,
Unfazed by wind or opinion.
A simple calling,
As if awaiting something grand,
Lingering with patience, feathery leaves,
Delicate notes from a lonely sky.
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