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snow i think

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silvery flakes drifted down
glittering in the bright light of the harvest moon
the black birds in the sky
squawking yelling bye
the woodland creatures
hide from fright
man no longer exists
water moves powerfully
as the stream over flows into the grass
corn fields empty
no more harvesting to be done
new worlds arriving
no one knows no one there to know
the apocalypse is coming




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