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Winter's Day
A pale grey day stole my heart,
blown away by zephyrs playing
among leaves.
Silent skies where
a lone crow soars on winds
not meant for song....
therein my dreams reside,
tempest tossed and scattered.
Yet in these days my heart grows
young in a past remembered bittersweet.
Autumn grows slowly to winter,
lonely wind storms call my name.
What a tremendous evocation, and again done with that verbal economy that indicates your classic talent.
Starward