Cold
Outside my window I see morning.
No sun. But soon.
A frosty Gray haze seems to loom
indefinitely, blending the boundaries
of earth and sky
into a canvas of endless cold.
Pale and ashy is the face of coldness,
dull and bitter are the words
on her breath.
The Cold seems to stare back
through the window with such resentment,
that it grips the earth,
taking fistfulls of grass
until Winter is barren.
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