Written i August 2026
Placed Third in : Eight by Eight Poetry Contest oF Nette Oncllaud
Syllable count checked on howmanysyllables.com>syllable_counter
Soft grey veils descend on the plains, The world grows quiet, hushed and blurred; I stroll back home amidst the fog Without a sense of direction. My breath makes cold and hazy clouds, Lost in this murky frosty shroud, My thoughts start to roam far and wide Where worries waltz and fade away.
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