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Poem

I was born in January’s cradle,
Where the year begins anew,
Beneath the frost-veiled mornings,
And skies of brittle blue.

This month is a hymn of beginnings,
A promise carved in ice,
With dreams like stars awakening,
In a world both harsh and nice.

I love it for its courage—
The way it shakes off the past,
With winter’s breath still lingering,
Yet hope's song growing fast.

The snow falls soft, a pristine quilt,
Hiding scars the earth once bore,
It teaches us in whispers,
To rise, renew, restore.

But shadows haunt these fleeting days,
When light retreats too soon,
And the wind bites with an honesty,
That strips all warmth from noon.

January is for reckoning, resolve, and rebirth,
For long walks under naked trees,
For cups of steaming tea that soothe,
For prayers whispered on frigid breeze.

Its history is one of quiet might,
Of Janus, who sees both past and now,
A two-faced god who holds the keys,
To future’s fleeting vow.

I fear the weight of its blank slate,
The pressure of fresh starts,
But cherish the pause it grants my soul,
To mend my fractured parts.

To me, January means vision and grace,
The chance to embrace life’s fleeting pace,
The courage to shed what no longer belongs,
And find strength in winter’s resilient song.

Oh, January, my birth-month muse,
Your secrets linger in the frost’s soft hues.
You teach me to tread with steady heart,
In the year’s first light, where dreams may start.

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