April 20, 2014
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It was a bluish frosty morn,
And the sky was pale.
The sun had not risen as it's worn,
And the wind is fast as a gale.

I feel goose bumps rise,
And I cuddle upon my bed.
I lit a fire to make me nice;
Comfortable and warm intead.

The snow is falling to heaps,
As whitish as you have ever seen.
The poet himself wonders and leaps;
From the window of the room he'd been.

A bizarre feeling crept through it,
And I couldn't wait but write.
I scribble the beauty of winter a bit;
In little cosy words as I might.

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oxford123 said...
Apr. 28, 2014 at 8:33 pm
If u read my First poem, plz give me a comment and vote me if you can!
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