A Flawed Gem
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Winter clouds are hanging low,
stitched to the horizon's hem.
And the sky, a blue sapphire,
streaked with white veins, a flawed gem.
Trees stretch skeletal fingers,
entombed within ice and snow.
Yet a hint of life lingers,
giving them a greenish glow.
A shapeless Snowman's melting
and swiftly falling apart.
For freezing rain keeps pelting;
shattering his crystal heart.
White snowdrifts are sullied grey
with patches of grassy green.
And icicles warmed by day,
acquire a clear liquid sheen.
Night dons an ebony cloak,
sealing the Sun in its tomb.
And until Dawn brings them back;
shadows merge in shades of gloom.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015
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